Teacher Swap
by tartan-angel
Summary: Part of Albus's plan to raise school morale involves a little shake-up to the normal routine. Whatever will become of one of his craziest ideas to date?
1. A Ludicrous Idea

_A/N: As my profile states, I am not JKR, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the wizarding world and I do not profit at all from fan fiction. Now, this thought popped into my head when I was contemplating school life and has been wallowing on my laptop for far too long, so I'm giving it some air. It's a parody on Wife Swap… if you haven't seen it, you're not missing much…_

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><p><span>TEACHER SWAP<span>

Albus Dumbledore looked around at the stunned faces of his horrified colleagues.

"That is possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard come from your mouth," exclaimed Severus Snape acidly.

"And that is really saying something," added Albus's right-hand witch, Minerva McGonagall.

"Sorry, can you run that past me again?" enquired Rolanda Hooch, who was rarely given to listening to the contents of any staff meeting. However, the outraged remarks of her fellow colleagues had enticed her into paying attention.

"Merlin knows that morale around the school has been rather low recently, so I have had the ingenious idea of inventing a teacher swap rota. Over the course of the coming week, you will each be taking different classes to your usual schedule."

Pomona Sprout looked rather concerned at this; she had never been a dab hand at many other school subjects, she had achieved decent enough grades but she really wasn't very confident about this. Apprehension seemed to be setting in for everyone.

Remus Lupin looked like he was trying very hard not to scream, Aurora Sinistra had started biting her nails, Filius Flitwick looked as if he might faint, Sybil Trelawney already had (though that could have been due to the unseemly amount of cooking sherry flowing through her system). Rolanda Hooch still looked as if she thought Albus was joking, Irma Pince and Argus Filch looked rather gleeful as they wouldn't have to take part in the swap, Poppy Pomfrey appeared decidedly indignant. But none were as outraged as Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall; Severus seemed to be positively homicidal and Minerva's mouth was barely visible.

"But, Albus, I can't swap! I'm the nurse! What if someone gets hurt?" Poppy screeched.

"Well," Albus began cheerfully, "both Severus and Minerva have previous medical training so they will be the only ones to swap with you, Poppy. There is no need to worry, the rest of the time you may remain in the Hospital Wing." Poppy breathed a sigh of relief, whereas Severus and Minerva looked quite ill.

"Albus, honestly, the joke was funny but can we just keep things as they are?" Minerva asked. If anyone's opinion could sway the headmaster, it was Minerva's. Still nobody seemed to be concerned by Sybil's unfortunate state of collapse.

"No-one is joking, Minerva. I have all of your schedules for the week here." Albus waved his wand haphazardly at a small pile of papers and each one began to soar towards its owner.

Severus leaned over to Minerva.

"Since when did you have medical training?"

"I was an Auror before I worked here," she replied softly. "Oh, don't look so astonished. I did have a life before I came here!"

"And you don't now?" One of Severus's favourite pass-times was irritating the Scottish witch.

"For your information, yes, I do. Any way, how did you get medical experience?" she asked briskly, swiftly changing the subject.

"I am a Potions teacher and a spy. Go work it out," he whispered blandly.

"Alright, keep your greasy hair on. Hmm… Looks like I'm teaching Defence first period. Gryffindors and Slytherins. This should be interesting, if nothing else." The staff slowly filtered out of the room, trudging towards their imminent doom… or that's what they called it, anyway.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter was in a decidedly more optimistic mindset as he trundled towards Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Dumbledore had dropped several hints at breakfast that things may be a little different today. Merlin knew what he was talking about! Harry always enjoyed Professor Lupin's lessons as they were always slightly unexpected. However, as the door to the classroom opened, something even more unexpected happened.<p>

In place of Professor Lupin and his shabby robes was Professor McGonagall, who beckoned them all in with a hint of annoyance in her tone.

Ron gulped.

"Bloody hell!"

Everybody took to their seats with a slight drop of the heart._ Textbook work today then, _thought Harry.

"Now, as you will notice over the coming week that you will have different teachers for different lessons. The Headmaster has decided that it will be good for school morale," Harry could have sworn he heard her add a little '_Merlin knows why' _under her breath. "So, today I shall be teaching you some duelling skills."

_What?_ Malfoy looked quite worried at this prospect, and Hermione even more so.

"Um, excuse me Professor?" asked Malfoy smoothly. "Are you qualified to be teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Mr Malfoy, I used to be a member of the Auror department and I have fought in far more wars, both Muggle and wizarding, than I care to remember. So, yes, I think I am." She added, "Oh, and you can tell your father that too." Professor McGonagall replied with an air of finality that shut Malfoy up considerably, causing a set of hushed giggles to flit around the class.

"Wow," whispered Ron, "who'd have guessed it?"

"If that is all, please pick a partner and get your wands out." She levitated all of the desks against the walls so that everybody was left standing in the centre of the room. "Now, who shall help me demonstrate? Nobody? Mr Potter, how about you?" Harry faltered. Malfoy was sneering at him already. He walked forward and halted just before her.

"There's a lad. So, stand opposite your partner. Choose your stance, ready your wand and bow." Each action was completed as the command was given. "Ready, Potter?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry lied. _No I'm bloody not. Oh no, Ron's rubbing off on me._

The countdown was given and a storm of spells filled the air.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Protego!"_

"_Impedimenta!" _

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _

"_Finite Incantatem!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Protego!"_

It went on for several minutes. It was relentless. The spells were ricocheting everywhere, almost blindingly and they were so quick in succession that Harry hardly had time to recover after each cast. Then Harry was suddenly hit with a non-verbal spell that he didn't even see coming. His limbs stiffened and he couldn't move. Every bone in his body froze like ice spreading through his veins. Fortunately, just as quickly as the spell had started, it finished.

"Well done, Potter." It was a rare compliment but he felt as if he had failed. Malfoy was smirking. "Now, class, you will be learning non-verbal spells at NEWT level but, as you will know, they are a very important part of duelling. They give you the element of surprise and give your opponent less time to react. So, in your pairs I want you to practice your duelling skills but you are to disarm only! Have you got that?"

The rest of the class passed fairly quickly. Professor McGonagall walked around the class watching each pair carefully and then offered improvement points to them. Thankfully, Ron wasn't quite as good as Professor McGonagall and Harry felt much more comfortable duelling him. His Transfiguration teacher seemed to be fairly impressed with Harry, which made him feel all the better.

* * *

><p>After Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry climbed up to the Divination tower, wondering who would be taking over the lesson. It was to Harry's surprise that, when he appeared through the trapdoor, he was met by a yellow-eyed witch with spiky grey hair. Madam Hooch looked extremely grim. The room thankfully was not overwhelmingly scented for once and everybody, barring Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, seemed to be pleased about it. They all took their seats in the overly-squashy armchairs that were scattered around the room.<p>

Madam Hooch heaved a deep sigh and plumped down into the chair at the front. _This should be interesting._

"Now, let's get one thing straight; you probably don't like Divination, I definitely don't like Divination. Personally I think that all this 'Inner Eye' nonsense is a load of Hippogriff. So, I'm sorry, you won't be learning any Divination today." Most of the class's faces lit up. "Who would rather look at Quidditch tactics?"

By the end of the lesson, Harry had learnt how to do a perfect Sloth Drop Roll, a Seeker's Sting, an Eel Dive and had come to like Madam Hooch a lot better. They had talked for the majority of the lesson about Harry's new Firebolt and his Nimbus Two Thousand, or any broom they could think of really. Slytherin were in trouble if the whole team used these tactics! The next match really would be a massacre. _That would wipe the smug smile from Malfoy's face._

"Well done," Madam Hooch called as the class filed out. "Now, wasn't that better than that Divination tosh?"

* * *

><p>After break, the Golden Trio walked down to double Potions in a significantly lightened mood. Generally they would be dreading this lesson but they knew that they wouldn't have to put up with Snape's constant dreariness or his endless greasiness; they would have a different teacher. Anyone was better than Snape, right?<p>

Instead of the hook-nosed dungeon bat was little Professor Flitwick teetering atop his customary pile of thick books.

"Come in, come in," he squeaked. "Now, today we will be looking at the cure for Dragon Pox. Can anybody tell me what that is? Er… yes, Miss Granger."

As was the fashion, Hermione's hand had shot straight into the air at the question.

"Stickleback syrup, Professor."

"Well done, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. Now, everybody get out your textbooks and find the Stickleback Syrup." The class obeyed. "Can anybody tell me another use for the Stickleback Syrup?" Again, Hermione's hand was waving in the air.

"It can be a powerful De-Aging Potion under the correct potency. But it will only work if you haven't yet added any asphodel." The class around her groaned and Ron glanced at Harry with an _I-knew-that _roll of his eyes.

"Very good, take another ten points, Miss Granger."

The class all began brewing their potions and Harry was just slicing up his stickleback spine as Professor McGonagall strode into the dungeon.

"Professor Flitwick, may I talk with you?"

"Of course," answered Professor Flitwick, who hastily jumped down from his pile of books. However, just as he landed on the cold stone floor, the pile of books tumbled down and knocked straight into Neville's cauldron, spilling the contents over the front of Professor McGonagall.

"What is this?" she demanded, glaring down into the cauldron.

"Stickleback Syrup, Professor," said Neville bashfully.

"Oh Merlin, did you add the asphodel yet?" She had begun to prod the miniscule amount of potion left in the cauldron with her wand.

"Well, I was just about to…"

Just then there was a blinding flash of red light and a thick, choking blue fog engulfed the room. When it cleared, in place of the stern deputy Headmistress, there stood a tall, lithe, ebony-haired girl of about seventeen. She had bright emerald eyes, full rosy lips and wore fitted navy blue robes, which were half-covered by her waist-length locks.

For a long moment nobody seemed to be capable of speech. _That was Professor McGonagall? Wow…_

"Bloody hell!" Harry heard Ron exclaim.

"Minerva, do you want to get to the Hospital Wing?" Professor Flitwick asked cautiously.

"No, it's my turn there anyway. I think I'm alright. How strong was that potion?" she inquired, glaring again into Neville's cauldron.

"I have no idea."

"Hmm…" she said, by way of reply, while examining the dregs left in the bottom of Neville's cauldron. "Quite a strong one by the looks of it. Hopefully, it should wear off in a couple of days."

"Minerva, are you sure you are okay?"

"I'll be perfectly fine. I think. Worse things have happened, right?"

Harry thought that the potion must change your personality as well, but at least it hadn't affected her memory. It was strange having her there. She looked so… different. Ron was still gaping at Professor McGonagall, Hermione was back to brewing her potion again and the rest of the class seemed to have given up.

"I'll get Albus to come down here," suggested Professor Flitwick.

"Filius, I am perfectly capable of escorting myself back to the Hospital Wing," Professor McGonagall protested.

"Please, Minerva, he will know what to do," Professor Flitwick pleaded.

"Honestly, I just have to wait it off."

"Let me get Severus then?" He knew she would not be happy about this particular suggestion as soon as it had left his mouth.

"Filius, I am just fine!" Her raging voice resonated around the dungeon.

Suddenly, Professor Dumbledore appeared in the doorway of the dungeon. He looked his usual cheerful self, at least. He really did have a knack for turning up at just the right time.

"Someone called?" he announced happily.

"Yes, Albus. Minerva has had a small problem." _Understatement of the century, _Harry thought.

"Like what?" Minerva span around to face Albus and he stopped in his tracks. "Ah…"

"I'm ok. Will you just stop fussing please?" Professor McGonagall marched past Professor Dumbledore, who quickly followed suit.

"Well… class… erm… it's nearly time to go so would you like to begin packing your equipment away?"

* * *

><p>"What on earth were you thinking?"<p>

Albus Dumbledore was speechless, he just sat and gaped at his deputy. It was like she was seventeen again. Well, technically she was…

"Hello, Albus, are you awake?" She said sarcastically.

"I apologize, my dear, I was lost in my own thoughts," Albus explained vaguely.

"Well, will you help me find a way out of this? I can't stay like this!" She shouted with a limp gesture at her new - or should I say old - body.

"I don't think you have a choice, Minerva."

"I could just leave until it's worn off…" Minerva suggested feebly.

"You wouldn't do that. Besides, where would you go?"

"Home," she replied with a sulky tone to her voice.

"But the Scottish Stallion is going to be at work for the most part," he smiled. He knew her weaknesses. She hated when he called her husband names.

"Will you stop calling him that?"

"Fine. Matthew is going to be at work for the most part and you can't very well go and live with Rebecca in Paris!"

"Well, I could…" she gave up on the thought immediately; her daughter definitely would not be happy to see a seventeen-year-old version of her own mother turn up on her doorstep. Minerva McGonagall sighed and flopped back into an armchair. "What am I going to do, Albus?"

"I'll tell you what you are going to do," began Albus defiantly. "You, Minerva Katharina McGonagall, are going to get out there, teach your classes and show everybody out there that you are the strongest, most amazing woman in the school."

"Just in the school?"

* * *

><p>Harry, Ron and Hermione had finished lunch and were lounging around under the beech tree by the lake.<p>

"Mad, isn't it?" sighed Ron.

"I know," began Hermione. "I mean, the whole situation is strange. A teacher swap? What was Professor Dumbledore thinking? And, now, Professor McGonagall looks like she's seventeen again. What is going on?"

"I was talking about Neville brewing a half-decent potion." Ron said, by way of answering.

"Don't be so awful, Ronald," Hermione chastised. The trio sat silent for a few long moments before Harry interrupted the serenity:

"What do we have next then?"

"Herbology," Ron replied gloomily.

"We'd better get to the greenhouses, then."

And they departed.

Awaiting their arrival in the greenhouse was Professor Remus Lupin who, unlike Madam Hooch, seemed much more at home in his present surroundings. When the class were admitted inside, he was admiring a rather dangerous-looking fuchsia coloured plant with huge green tentacle-like leaves. _Makes sense, _thought Harry.

"Ah, good afternoon. Come in, come in." Being his usual, jovial self, he smiled at each student as they passed through the doors.

Once they had all gathered inside the jungle-like greenhouse, he began. "Good afternoon, and how are you all enjoying this little teacher swap?" To his surprise, the class seemed - on the whole - rather upbeat about the swap. He had no idea what they had all seen in their Potions class. "Now, today we shall be studying the _arboralis adamenta. _Can anybody tell me the more common name for this plant?"

Hermione looked right around the greenhouse and, when she was certain that nobody else would answer, she decided to do so on their behalf.

"It's most commonly known as the plant of the dead, Sir."

"Yes, indeed, Miss Granger. Well done. Now, for ten house points, can anybody tell me what this plant is used for?"

To everybody's surprise, Neville Longbottom thrust a shaking hand into the air above his head.

"Mr Longbottom?"

"Its venom is used as a powerful sedative." For a moment, Neville looked unsure of his answer, but he was positively delighted when Professor Lupin declared that he was right.

Harry suddenly had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Just to point out, I completely made up the "Latin" name of the plant. So, to continue or not to continue, that is the question I put to you, kind reader._


	2. Flying and Fainting

_A/N: Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews and I apologize for the delay on this chapter, but those evil little pixies put a bit of a block on my imagination as far as this story was concerned. Anyway, here is day two of the Teacher Swap. Enjoy._

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><p>"Okay, I've changed my mind. I <em>cannot<em> do this." Minerva McGonagall was standing in front of the full-length mirror in her sleeping quarters. She pushed the hair out of her face in order to better inspect her new – or is that old – features. "Look at me! How am I going to get any respect trying to teach a class as a teenager?"

"I forgot how indecisive you used to be," Albus sighed as he heard the despair in his friend's voice. Minerva swirled around quicker than you can say 'Bludger in the broom cupboard!'

"Indecisive? I will have you know I have never in my life been indecisive, _Professor_." The poisonous inflection on the final word told Albus that today was probably not the best day to be teasing her. As if any day was a good day to tease Minerva McGonagall.

"I think you are just trying to worm your way out of this because you want to go back to bed." Though she would never admit it, the thought was not foreign to Minerva. Neither was it an unwelcome prospect.

"Albus, trying to put me down is not going to make me go out there to prove you wrong and it's very Slytherin of you to even think of such a sly idea!" Minerva's cheeks were now a rosy tint of pink against her pale features.

"What can I say?" He added with his trademark glint in his eye, "I learned from the best." At her outraged glare, he sighed once again and flung himself down to sit upon her bed, which was so soft he began to slowly sink into it. After muttering lightly ("really, how can you sleep on such a catastrophe of a bed?"), he pulled out a small crystal phial from the inside pocket of his garish purple robes.

"What… what are you doing?" Minerva asked, watching the reflection of the green elixir swirling in her friend's hand.

"Well, I had a feeling that you would be apprehensive about this." As Minerva opened her mouth to make a false protest, Albus raised his hand to silence her. "I knew you would not want to do this alone. So I had Severus prepare this for me." He swirled the gloopy green liquid.

"You didn't –"

"As I said, I knew you would not want to do this alone. So we will do it together."

* * *

><p>The Great Hall was positively thrumming with the news of yesterday's mishap. While some did not believe it to be true, everybody – barring none – who had not witnessed the event was curious to see whether the rumours were true. Could their Transfiguration Professor truly be a teenager again? Generally, most would dismiss it as poppycock, the mere fantasy of an over-imaginative first-year.<p>

However, the hushed conversations between Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey (whose interaction, in itself, should have been a red flag as they were not accustomed to conducting too much conversation outside of the staffroom) had only served to add fuel to the fire. It was assumed that they must be trying to find an antidote to the little… problem that had arisen.

The assumptions were correct.

A gust of cold wind entered the Great Hall as the vast oak doors swung open, leaving the entire school staring at the two slim figures silhouetted in the doorway.

"Albus, I _told _you this was a bad idea," whispered the girl into Albus's ear.

"There is no such thing as a bad idea, Minerva; just a good idea that has not quite finished developing yet." She startled at the sudden warmth of his fingers intertwining with hers. As he began to pull her along in his wake, Minerva found herself wondering why Albus would do such a thing for her.

As he began to pull her along in his wake, the school looked on, wide-eyed. The beautiful raven-haired girl was being pulled along by a bony, auburn-haired boy of about the same age. Surprisingly, he wore a pair of Muggle jeans and a bright orange t-shirt with what looked to be phoenixes flapping about it in a strange motif, whereas the girl was wearing a tightly-fitting set of deep red robes. So... not only were the rumours true, they were also surprisingly understated for once.

The entire school, as the cliché says, was holding their breath.

Minerva McGonagall was holding her breath.

Albus Dumbledore was positively beaming. He stepped up to the podium on the raised platform where the staff table stood and pointed his considerably less crooked nose to the enchanted ceiling. As he watched the swirling clouds merging with the early morning sky, the students fixed their gazes steadfastly upon him. His lack of facial hair was a shock to most, but his hair was still relatively long – almost as long as Minerva's, for that matter. When he spoke, it was with a voice almost imperceptibly higher than his usual deep tone.

"My dear children," a familiar twinkle played in his blue eyes, "you know that it is rude to stare." Guilty young heads turned to glance around at their friends and eventually rested their eyes on the floor, while the older students began to snicker. It seems Professor Dumbledore's sense of fun was something he had had even as a teenager. Professor McGonagall, who had been standing silently, looking out over the heads of the students at the Gryffindor table, cleared her throat in a not-terribly-subtle fashion, causing the Headmaster to continue his speech:

"Very well, then I would appreciate it if you would get all of that nonsense out of your systems and could continue through the day as normal… or as normal as is possible for Hogwarts. Anyway, let us hope that no mishaps like yesterday's occur today etcetera, etcetera. Tuck in!"

There was a moment of silent contemplation while the students of Hogwarts tried to overcome the peculiarity of the circumstances. Ronald Weasley, however, did not need telling twice when it came to food.

* * *

><p>Harry, Ron and Hermione, getting caught in the floods of students rushing from the Great Hall after a somewhat awkward breakfast, were being pushed towards the Transfiguration classroom on the first floor. Waiting to be beckoned inside, Harry left the surreal feeling he had developed and started to wonder who would be their Professor for the morning.<p>

His question was granted when Professor Sinistra, of the Astronomy department, stepped into the corridor.

"Good morning, class," she chirruped in her usual upbeat manner. Unwilling to reply like mere children, the students filed into the room in silence.

"Today, we will be learning how to…" Professor Sinistra picked up a piece of parchment laced in familiar emerald green writing. "How to… transfigure a… table… into a…" She was squinting at the parchment now, evidently struggling to read it. "What does that-?" Some particularly unpleasant Slytherins started to snicker from the corner.

Hermione raised a hand. "Professor, can I -?"

"That will not be necessary, thank you, Miss Granger. Today we shall be learning to transfigure mice into an animal of your choice." While certain that this was not what was written on the parchment, the class suddenly perked up; something disastrous inevitably happened whenever live animals were introduced to Transfiguration class. Usually as a result of Neville Longbottom's attempts. Besides, what sort of teenager does not possess a hunger for the disastrous?

After watching Professor Sinistra transform her mice into an elegant peacock with a lazy flick of her wand, the students – both Slytherin and Gryffindor – were eager to get started. It was certain that Professor Sinistra's light, almost effortless, style of transfiguration was quite different from what the students were accustomed to seeing from Professor McGonagall's fluid and intensely concentrated movements. However, she seemed to be just as apt with this level of Transfiguration as with Astronomy.

The class saw several ambitious attempts, to say the least. Ron's mouse, which he had attempted to turn into a komodo dragon – a creature which he had stumbled upon in an old Muggle book he had found in his father's study –, had gained wide, lizard-like eyes and a scaly coating atop its fur but had remained otherwise unchanged. Malfoy, annoyingly, had managed to form a half-decent snake from his mouse. However, to Harry's immense pleasure, it still sported two small, pink-lined ears. Hermione had, of course, created a perfect otter from her mouse. One would struggle to tell that it had, in fact, started its life as a small rodent.

The less said about Harry's lion cub, the better.

* * *

><p>Professor Minerva McGonagall was having trouble. She hated herself for admitting it, seeing it as a wretched white flag, but there it was. She was struggling.<p>

After a quarter of an hour of shamelessly blatant references to her appearance, Minerva McGonagall had had enough. These children were in no mood to learn any new charms.

"Professor," asked a particularly daring Ravenclaw student, whom she recognized as Edward Richmond, "May I ask you a question?"

"I believe that you just did, Mr. Richmond." Seeing his look of slight annoyance at having been used a s a joke, she added, "But you may ask me another if you wish."

"Well, I was just wondering whether," he paused then, gathering whatever courage he had, continued quickly, "I wondered whether you would consider-maybe-helping-me-with-my-homework."

Professor McGonagall quirked a brow and pushed thick black locks of hair from her face. "And what homework would that be, Mr. Richmond."

"You know, it has completely slipped my mind. It's in my dormitory. Perhaps you would consider coming with me to help me find it."

Minerva sighed.

She forced her back to become a little straighter (if that were at all physically possible) as she stood before Professor Flitwick's cluttered desk. She was about to do the unthinkable. Something only a woman who had been forced to attend summer stage school as a child would think of attempting. _Appeal to your audience. Make them think you understand them, even if you do not._ Sometimes one finds strange nuggets of advice in otherwise useless conversations, she thought.

"Okay, why don't you all get this out of your systems so we can start learning some charms? Oh, and before you ask, Mr. Richmond, the answer to your _request _is definitely not. Well, come on then! Give me the best you've got." The entire class trembled with a heady mix of fear and confusion. When nobody replied, Minerva added, "So when you are asked for it, you lose your nerves? Come on, since when has a teacher ever asked you to insult them? I'm sure you will never get this opportunity again, so just do it."

"Fred thinks you're fit," George Weasley blurted out finally.

"So does George."

"Will you show us your -?" This one was quickly cut off by Minerva's shout of "NO!". She had no desire to hear the remainder of that question.

"I like your hair." If she was honest, Minerva thought this one was quite sweet and reminded herself to add five points to Hufflepuff for sheer flattery.

"I think you'd be great in bed." Minerva started a little at this but restrained herself from commenting.

"I'd like to be _in _your bed." This one almost made her choke.

"I think those robes show off your perfect –"

"That is quite enough, thank you. You know, I_ have_ had the feeling that someone was mentally undressing me but, for me, that's normal." Now it was the class's turn to be stunned. It was short-lived, however, as the Weasley twins launched into an infectious round of laughter.

"Well, now we have got that out of our systems, I will not be starting a romantic relationship with any of you; firstly because you are all my students and that would be highly inappropriate. Secondly, because I am happily married (believe it or not). Also, I don't find any of you attractive in the slightest." Several faces dropped as the hope was ripped from their chests in one swift blow. "Now, Cushioning Charms…"

* * *

><p>Harry, Ron and Hermione, having just had a rather splendid break time, in which they listened to the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan concocting a brand new prank to be played. Harry saw it as a rare treat, getting to hear the masters at work, building up a spectacular event from the bare sketches of an idea. Rather akin to a writer breathing life into a story that has just strolled into their mind.<p>

The three of them were now heading towards the grounds, where they would be receiving their first flying lesson of the year (they became much less frequent as students progressed through the school). As they approached the broom store, where all of the school's brooms were kept, Harry almost dropped his Nimbus 2000.

Severus Snape was summoning the brooms and levitating them into a straight line.

Snape!

Of all people!

Ron, who had cottoned on a fraction of a second later than Harry, almost choked on thin air. He bit back an imminent laugh as he approached the Potions Master cheerfully and said:

"Morning, Professor!"

"There is nothing to be quite so cheerful about, Weasley. You are about to fall off of a broomstick." Unsure whether Snape's snarled reply was meant as a threat or some kind of dark joke, Ron sloped back to Harry and Hermione, who were snickering privately. _So much for best mates, _he thought, secretly knowing that, if it were Harry in his position, he would be doing exactly the same.

Once the rest of the class had congregated, Professor Snape called out:

"Before we start, we will establish the basic rules of today's lesson. Firstly, there will be no interrupting me unless somebody is foolish enough to endanger their own life. Secondly, anybody flying higher than the fifth floor will receive a detention. Anybody flying too far afield _will_ receive a detention. Anybody disobeying these rules in any way _will _receive a detention. Have I made myself clear?"

The class shuffled their feet next to the brooms they had each been assigned and murmured a quiet "Yes, Professor Snape." Harry, for one, was outraged. _No higher than the fifth floor? What does he expect us to do for a whole hour? Cut the grass with our brooms?_

"Now, on the count of three, you will begin the basic procedure for summoning your broomsticks. One, two – what is it, Longbottom?"

Neville, who had had his hand in the air, felt the colour seep away from his face as if his head had been a balloon that was popped by a particularly nasty pin.

"It's j-just," Neville stuttered. "J-just th-that…"

"Spit it out, Longbottom."

"I wondered w-whether y-you could… c-could show us, Professor?"

Neville seemed to have been expecting Snape's immediate wrath as, when the Potion Master's face dropped, he looked rather confused.

"Longbottom, I presume you heard my first rule?" Neville inclined his head clumsily. "Do you see anybody in mortal danger? No. Then I suggest that you cease interrupting me, unless you find yourself yearning for a _detention_." Snape was almost shouting by now, though this was for reasons unknown by the students. Neville had, after all, only asked a simple question. "If you have trouble pronouncing the word 'up', I strongly suggest you that you find another class."

Neville did not reply to the angry Professor's quite unreasonable attack.

"Right. One, two, three." Thirty brooms lifted up into the hands of the students standing above them. _At least, _Severus thought, _they have managed to get this far in three years._

"Now, you will mount your broomsticks and hover – yes, _only _hover, Potter – above the ground." Snape paced the grass, speaking in clipped military tones. The class of Gryffindors and Slytherins picked up from the ground and managed to hover slightly. Admittedly, Longbottom was wavering nervously and Granger was just about managing to get this far but, as Severus walked straight across the rows of students, scrutinizing the forms of each, he could not help but think that Hooch was doing her job right.

The class progressed slowly, much to the frustration of those students who had been blessed with good balance on a broomstick. They had just reached the point where they were all flying slowly around the level of the second floor when Goyle began to rush upwards, spiraling towards the darkening clouds, a firework out of control.

"Goyle! Get down here this instant!" Snape's irate bellowing was ignored by the brute, who was groaning loudly while his broom jerked and flinched, seemingly in pain. "Goyle!"

Professor Snape seemed almost scared – _almost _– as he snatched a school broom from the hands of Hermione Granger. He kicked off from the ground, wobbling precariously upwards. Harry was torn between laughter and surprising concern as he watched his Potions instructor struggling with his broomstick. Ron, it seemed was willing him to fall from it.

Just as Harry was about to grab his broom and head to the rescue, a loud voice rang out:

"Severus!" It was Professor Dumbledore. The class turned to find him running, long auburn hair tied behind him, full-speed towards them. He jumped on a broom and sped lithely towards the student and professor. With a little light coercion from the teenage Headmaster, Professor Snape allowed himself to be lowered magically to the ground, where a cunningly placed Cushioning charm would help him should he fall. Goyle's broom had stopped bucking like a bull and was already being directed to terra firma.

Snape's face as his feet touched the ground was even more pallid than usual. He barely had his groundings before he swept away quickly, bellowing "Class dismissed!" as he half-jogged back to the castle.

Ron was doubled over.

Suffice to say, he received a sharp clip to the side of his head from both Hermione and Harry.

* * *

><p>Later, in the Great Hall, the school was settling down peacefully (well, as close to peaceful as ever happened in Hogwarts) to a sumptuous roast dinner. Ronald was still basking in the bittersweet delight of having seen his least favourite Professor utterly humiliated. On the one hand, Harry thought, it was quite funny. However, it also meant that Snape would probably try to murder them the next time he saw them.<p>

Or worse.

Hermione could not contain herself and was intermittently glancing up at the Staff table; more often than she was looking at her dinner, in fact.

Across the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy was doing the same thing.

* * *

><p>"Severus, <em>tell me <em>you have found an antidote," pleaded a somewhat distressed Minerva McGonagall.

"I am afraid your lack of basic manners has made me forget everything I have learned today about antidotes to this particular De-aging potion." His lips curled in a cruel smirk. He needed to have some power at this point; it would make his day.

"Oh, don't be like that, _Mr. Snape_." The name made him shudder. She had rarely called him that since he was a student at Hogwarts, and when she had, she had been in a diabolical mood with him.

"There is no antidote."

"What?" Her voice trembled, disbelieving.

"The word is 'pardon.'" Severus could not resist pushing her. In her current state, he knew, she would do anything to get back to normal.

"Shut up. What do you mean there is no antidote?"

"I mean exactly that. There is no quick-fix cure." Her face dropped. "However, from the dregs of Longbottom's potion that I managed to salvage, it seemed to be fairly weak and so it should wear off in about a week."

"A week? One _day _has been hell! I have received offers for sexual favours from more than five different students! What am I going to do, Severus?"

"Steel yourself." Surprised that Severus hadn't made a joke about students coming on to her, Minerva finally faced him. He had an empty plate but was still staring down at it. Unbeknownst to most, he ate a lot when he was stressed. Unbeknownst to him, Minerva had worked this out years ago.

She realised that she had not touched her own meal for the same reasons that he had not touched his. This 'teacher swap' - or whatever Albus had called it - was a terrible idea. She pushed her plate in front of him and, when he looked up questioningly at her, gave him a knowing smile.

"It's been a tough day."

Grateful for her insight and the fact that she had not been nosey – or perhaps _interested_ – enough to begin questioning him about it, Severus began to pick at the food from Minerva's plate while she turned the other way to engage in animated conversation with the Headmaster (some debate about whether Bertie Bott's were, indeed, the lowest point in British sweet production). It was not long before Severus's head was beginning to feel heavy.

It was as though the table before him had suddenly become a giant cushion. Heat surged through his veins. Comforting warmth seeped out into his pores and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

Then everything went black.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Did anyone spot the JKR reference in this chapter? House points if you did! Next chapter coming soon since I have demolished the writer's block with a sledgehammer… which was fun…_


	3. Accusations

_A/N: This chapter will be considerably shorter than the previous two, but I promise the next will see the third day of the Teacher Swap! Oh, and if you haven't already, I would really appreciate it if you could vote on my poll (which is about this story!)._

* * *

><p>Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall stood, like guardian statues, around the bed in the far corner of the Hospital Wing. Though not a word passed between them, both knew that the other was concerned.<p>

The musings of the two Professors were cut short as they were both pushed out of the way by a bustling Poppy Pomfrey, who burst through the gap between them, arms laden with phials and strange silver contraptions.

"What are all those?" asked Minerva, her mind rather frozen by her irrational dislike of medical professionals. Even though she realised that Poppy was her best friend and the most capable Healer she had met, Minerva still could not shake the feeling of dread that inevitably built up within her as she stood in the Hospital Wing.

"Mainly restorative draughts and painkillers, but -"

"No, I meant the ominous-looking instrument-things. Anyone would think you were about to probe him or something."

"How did you know?" At the falling of the jaws of both the Headmaster and his Deputy, Poppy continued,

"No, I'm joking! They are here to help me run diagnostics. Now, if you would just stop asking questions and move out of my way, I could get this over with a lot quicker."

Unwilling to protest with the determined Mediwitch, both Minerva and Albus stepped back from the bed and looked on nervously as Poppy worked with impossibly controlled grace. This grace under pressure had been the result of several excruciating years of tending to war-damaged wizards in an under-staffed ward.

After some long, _ minutes, Poppy sighed and stepped away from the bed. At her crestfallen look, the Headmaster and his Deputy felt their hearts drop.

"Poppy? What is it?" Minerva asked, concern clouding her eyes. Albus just stood, solid as the walls behind him but just as silent.

"Severus has been dosed with some sort of sedative," she shook her head before adding, "but it's rare. I cannot identify which one at the present moment."

"Is there anything - anything _at all_ - that we can do to help?"

"Actually," she trailed off and never brought the sentence to a close. Instead, she moved towards a bookshelf that stood stoically next to the entrance to her private rooms. She extracted four different volumes from its shelves and callously flung one at each of the Professors. Minerva caught her book with all the elegance that being a Gryffindor Chaser in school had given her. Albus, however, nearly dropped his as his long fingers fumbled over its spine.

"Check these," Poppy ordered. "Look for potent sedatives that leave no external symptoms."

Poppy sunk into the chair next to Severus's bed and began to leaf through the first of the two tomes she held, searching with the barest hint of desperation showing in her movements. Having gotten over the momentary shock of being ordered about by the Mediwitch, Minerva sunk to the floor and sat, cross-legged and straight-backed, quickly skipping to the sedatives section. Albus retreated to the corner of the room, drew his knees close to his chest and rested his own book atop them. His long auburn hair almost completely obscured his face as his less-than-normally-crooked nose grazed the rough pages.

Silence, that deadly enemy, had them in its clutches for ages. Too long. The three of them were slipping into despair just as Poppy jumped up from the chair in a manner that Minerva could not help but relate to Hermione Granger.

"_Aboralis adamenta_ venom." Poppy popped her head up suddenly from the book she had had her nose buried in, even after she had jumped from the chair.

"What?" asked Albus blearily, extracting his face from the book before him.

"It's the venom of the Plant of the Dead. Under the right conditions it can be used as a powerful sedative. If used in a large enough dosage, it can keep a person out for weeks."

"Is it fatal?" Minerva asked quickly. She exchanged a worried look with Albus, who was trying his best to seem positive. _They had found out what it was, all they needed was the cure, right?_

"Not usually, no. It takes abnormally large doses for it to become anywhere near life-threatening and Severus does not look to have been given all that much. But it was enough. Do you have any idea how he might have come into contact with the venom?"

"None at all." Both Albus and Minerva shook their heads in perfect synchronisation.

"He didn't eat anything strange? Drink anything that looked out of the ordinary?" Poppy surveyed both of them searchingly as they came to stand once more at Severus's bedside. His face seemed relaxed, but his body was stiff, almost pained.

"No," began Minerva. "I mean, he ate two dinners this evening but that's just because I wasn't hungry so I gave him mine."

"You don't think…?" Albus left the beginning of his thought hang in the air. The first thing he had said since they arrived and it was not even a coherent sentence. Poppy looked from Albus to Minerva with wide eyes.

"Come on, who would want to poison me? Furthermore, how on earth would they be able to orchestrate it?" Hogwarts is the safest place in the wizarding world… apart from the inevitable Potions disasters. Nobody could pull off this sort of thing from the outside. Besides, it was ludicrous to think that somebody – especially somebody from within the school – would want to cause her physical harm, even if she was less than polite sometimes. Minerva simply would not think of it.

"Has anyone been paying you particular attention recently, Minerva?"

"Well, let me see, a school full of hormonal teenage boys sees their Professor turned into a rather stunning teenager –" Albus let out a snort, which Minerva ignored completely. "– so yes. Yes, I have been paid more attention than I am used to recently, Poppy."

"Hang on, why hasn't that happened to me?" asked Albus, looking slightly dejected.

"That is hardly the most prominent issue, right now, Albus."

Before Albus could reply to Minerva's sarcastic comments, the heavy doors to the Hospital Wing crept open. Remus Lupin shuffled in silently.

"Ah, Professors, I was just coming to check on Severus. It's the least I could do, what with him agreeing to brew all of my … potions, you know." They understood straight away that Remus was referring to the monthly potions he required to take away the worst from his full moon transformations. "Have you found out what it was, yet?" He asked, silently inclining his head towards the still form of the Potions Master.

"_Aboralis adamenta_ venom."

"A-are you sure?" Remus stuttered.

"Do you know something about this, Remus?" Albus stepped towards him slightly. It put Remus a little out of his comfort zone to see Professor Dumbledore – a man he had always known as an older gentleman – look at him with those familiar blue eyes in a teenage body. It was a while before it struck him that the eyes had lost their twinkle.

"No. It's just…"

"If you have a concern, we would very much appreciate you telling us." When he saw that Remus was still reluctant to answer, he added, "It could really help."

"I-I showed this plant to a class yesterday – third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins – and I told them about its venom. Well… Neville Longbottom correctly answered a question about it, but still… you don't think one of them would… I mean, I know Severus isn't exactly polite… but to do this?"

"It wasn't aimed at Severus."

"What do you mean?" Minerva forced an elbow into Albus's ribs. Consequently, his reply was a little strained.

"We… erm… we think it was a joke that went a little… off-path."

* * *

><p>Ron Weasley grumbled as the third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were shepherded by a tired-looking Professor McGonagall. Add to that the fact that he still could not stop gawping at her since he found out she had been turned into her teenage self, and you had a recipe for a rather distressed boy.<p>

Professor Dumbledore was already standing on the raised platform at the front of the Great Hall, just as he had done that very morning. He did not look happy. The third-years were lined up in front of it in a similar way to how they had upon their first evening of school and they all bore a similar nervousness in the pit of their stomach to that they had felt before their Sorting.

"Curfew begins in ten minutes," Professor Dumbledore started once the last few Slytherins trickled in from the dungeons. "If we do not find out who orchestrated this foolish trick by then, you will all receive detentions until we do." He swept over them with a glare similar to Professor McGonagall's. "It was dangerous. Stupid. Reckless. If _anybody _has any idea of what… what _idiot _started this, I urge you to come forward now. Your silence is just making it worse for your fellow students."

After a long moment of anticipatory silence, Draco Malfoy piped up at last:

"Why don't you ask Longbottom? He seemed to know a great deal about the blasted thing." He directed a venomous scowl at Neville, who, to his credit, held back the urge to cower that he felt building up in his muscles.

"Or how about we ask you, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Professor McGonagall. "You seem rather intent on fixing the blame on somebody else." She had done it now. She had all but accused Malfoy – the son of a governor – of having tried to poison her. She was certain that his father (the slimeball) would hear about this.

"Why would I try to kill my own Head of House?" he smirked with an eyebrow raised in a cruel mockery of her own expression.

"This trick was not meant to kill anybody. Neither was it aimed at Professor Snape." A round of badly-hushed whispers swept the room at the Headmaster's revelation.

"Then who?" asked a Slytherin girl, Pansy Parkinson, if Minerva was not mistaken. Minerva looked at Albus imploringly but he mouthed back the word '_sorry'_.

"We believe that the target was actually supposed to be Professor McGonagall." Not even a whisper. Just silence.

"Nobody is willing to speak up?" Again, the words were met with silence from the students, who had given up on shooting suspicious glances at rivals and had settled now on watching their own shoes intently.

"Then you will all report to the Transfiguration classroom tomorrow at six sharp for detention. Off to your dormitories."

The class shuffled off, groaning quietly to each other. Dumbledore sighed heavily when only he and his Deputy were left in the Great Hall. He had not expected for any information to come to light, but that did not stop him from being disappointed.

* * *

><p>On the way back to the common room, as the Trio shuffled along with the other third-year Gryffindors, Ron was taking great delight in fervently spinning his theories.<p>

"I would bet my Chudley Canons shirt that it was Malfoy!"

"How many times have we blamed Malfoy, only to find out that it wasn't actually him?" sighed Hermione. Harry, drifting somewhere along in the rivets of his thoughts, was only paying enough attention to be aware of which direction his feet were headed in.

"Erm… I lost count… but this time I really think it was him!" Ron's ears had turned to a shade of red startlingly similar to that of his hair.

"I'm not brewing more Polyjuice Potion to find out!"

* * *

><p>Albus Dumbledore was silently preparing tea in his office after the disastrous meeting in the Great Hall.<p>

"Why would someone want to do this, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall sighed as she accepted the steaming cup of tea that was all but forced into her hands. "As if I haven't been through enough already this week!" It sounded selfish as soon as it had left her mouth and she wished she could suck all the words back in immediately. This wasn't about her. Not anymore.

"You talk as though you have nobody to help you through this," said Albus. He turned back to his friend with an unbearably pained expression. "You are not alone. Whatever is going on here, we will sort it out. Together." That one word. So inviting yet terribly portentous for reasons that Minerva could not quite identify.

"I don't know what I would do without you.

After a long silence, she rose from her chair and placed her barely-touched cup of tea on a side table. As she swept out of the room, she left in her wake a single sentence.

"You know, you don't look half bad as a teenager, old man."

* * *

><p><em>AN: If you are reading this, I love you from the bottom of my heart and thank you for your patience. If you are not reading this... then it's quite irrelevant because you cannot see it! :)_


	4. Educational Effects

_A/N: Gah, sorry for the wait but the ideas for this chapter died inside my brain before I could record them. Thanks to all who voted in the poll, by the way!_

* * *

><p>By breakfast on the third day of Professor Dumbledore's teacher swap, the Golden Trio were feeling decidedly downcast. Not only had they decided to take it upon themselves to find out who had poisoned Snape (even though Ron had protested that whoever did it had done the school a favour), but they also had to face a series of excruciatingly dull detentions until somebody owned up to it.<p>

"Who would do something that risky in front of the whole school?" Harry wondered as Ron chomped on a well-buttered piece of toast and Hermione looked on, disgusted.

"Like I said: Malfoy," Ron mumbled with his mouth full.

"Ronald! Don't talk while you are eating."

"Yes, Mum," Ron replied testily.

"I'm just not sure whether he would have the guts," Harry continued, ignoring his friends. "Plus, I am sure he would be gloating about it already if he had."

"Not now that everyone knows it went wrong, he wouldn't." When Ron and Harry both looked at her as if she had started speaking Russian, Hermione explained further. "Who wants to say that they messed up a simple joke?"

"I am not so sure that it was meant as a joke," Harry said morosely. The Trio moved their gaze up to the staff table.

* * *

><p>The staff were all eating in silence. Filius was not telling his usual jokes, Rolanda was not giving her usual play-by-play account of the latest Quidditch matches, Aurora was not staring up at the enchanted ceiling. Severus was not there. In truth, none had predicted how profound an effect his absence would have upon them. Merlin, with the way he always brought down the conversation, they thought they would be happy to lose his interruptions.<p>

But they were not.

All they could do was sit, pushing their food around their plates, all lost in their own thoughts. Minerva missed his sarcasm, though she would never admit it. Albus missed chuckling over their arguments. They all missed him.

_Weird…_

The all-consuming air of glum contemplation had spread down the length of the table and, so it seemed, was beginning to creep among the students. _If Severus could see this, _mused Albus.

"Are you alright?" he asked, turning towards Minerva. His voice rang out across the Great Hall and many students near the head table looked up from their breakfasts.

"Fine. Just dandy. Over the moon, in fact! What else could you expect? It's not like this stupid idea of yours has ruined EVERYTHING!" Minerva was breathing heavily by the end of her outburst and her cheeks were peppered with angry red blotches. Once she saw the startled faces of the entire student body (plus staff) staring up at her, Minerva pushed her seat from the table and swept out of the Great Hall, almost breaking into a jog as she neared the door.

The sound of her chair scraping on the flagstones resonated in their ears long after she had gone. Worried glances were cast between students and teachers, none of whom had expected such an uncharacteristic explosion from their Transfiguration Professor. Even the Slytherins looked disturbed.

Albus, being the first to regain at least some of his senses, leapt from the table and followed, muttering a quick "Excuse me" to Filius. Meanwhile, Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a meaningful glance.

* * *

><p>"What do you think that was about?" a gawky second-year Ravenclaw was asking the group of students crowded around her outside the Great Hall.<p>

"Can't deal with the hormones, I reckon," answered another young Ravenclaw – a male this time.

"I think she's gone mad," replied another.

"Well, considering that Professor McGonagall is having to help run a school, be Head of House and run all of her classes, while being harassed for her appearance, as well as the fact that someone ended up poisoning Professor Snape, might give her reason to be frustrated. I would think that, as Ravenclaws, you would understand that. You should have more respect!" The Ravenclaws were somewhat taken aback by Hermione's words and shuffled off promptly, heads bowed in a solemn silence.

Seeing his friend's clenched fists and the rising red in her face, all Ron could say was: "Bloody hell, Hermione. You're brilliant."

He was quite pleased when he noted that the red in her cheeks only worsened with his words. _It was pretty on her_. Hermione, finding herself unable to think up a suitable reply, led them out of the castle's front doors and towards the pen outside of Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures.

They spotted her from halfway across the courtyard.

Professor Trelawney was tentatively poking a finger through the fence around the pen, her countless shawls flapping in the breeze, her yards of beads clacking together noisily. The hippogriff inside the pen, who, until now, had been lounging quite happily in the corner, was not impressed. It lunged forward, only narrowly missing its goal of biting off the entire digit.

As the class advanced towards her, Trelawney withdrew her hand and scowled at the animal.

"My dears," she called out as the Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered around her, "I see that a necessary change of lesson plan is in order. My Inner Eye has advised me that it would be foolhardy to interact with these creatures today. There is too much negative energy around the castle."

The class eyed her sceptically, except for Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, that is. Hermione rolled her eyes. _She had dropped Divination to get away from this ridiculous woman and yet here she was again._

This lesson was going to be excruciating.

* * *

><p>Albus had not managed to catch up to Minerva as he sprinted from the Great Hall, but he knew exactly where she would be. As his feet led him past her office, he had to stop himself from instinctively going in. <em>She's not there<em>, he thought decidedly.

He had never seen her cry, not tears of anguish. Joy, yes, but not sadness. Not once in all their years of friendship. On those few occasions in which she had acquiesced to her emotions, she had always hidden it well, ducking into the nearest bathroom or rushing back to her office. However, this time, as she gazed absent-mindedly out onto the mist-laced grounds, she had nowhere to run.

Frankly, Minerva was tired of running. It was against her nature – against her proud family name – to run from trouble. So she had unconsciously allowed her feet to lead her body all the way up to the seventh floor. She had barely registered the password slipping from her lips as the Fat Lady requested it. She had barely noticed the sudden change in temperature as she stumbled through the portrait hole. She had barely acknowledged the flash of sharp pain that coursed through her veins as she sunk to her knees on the hearth rug.

Minerva would never be certain of why she chose to run to Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps it was because she knew that the students would not be there to trouble her. Or maybe it was the feeling of familiarity that flooded her every time she returned. It could have been the sense she got that she was close to her cubs even though they were not physically present.

The mere thought of her cubs started the breaking of the floodgates. _What a weakling they must think me. _How juvenile she thought her tears to be; tears will achieve nothing other than, perhaps, wetting her robes. Often she had berated students for weeping at their problems. _They do not hold the solution, _she had said of their tears. She would not be a hypocrite. Not again.

Of course, this thought had spurred her into action and it had not taken too long for Minerva's sense to return to her. She closed off the path for tears and mentally shook herself. She had survived – and would yet survive – much worse than an accident and a few failed pranks. But… there was something else, some previously ignored little notion growing in the back of her mind, trying to merge itself into coherency.

Now, standing by the small window that she had so often stared out of as a student, she could not help but think that even lionesses can fall.

Albus found Minerva standing by the window, arms wrapped around her chest in what appeared to be a vain attempt to hold herself together. It was a troubling sight to the Headmaster and yet, some vague corner of his mind logged the fact that the flush of red upon Minerva's porcelain skin was quite becoming. What worried him most was the fact that, even as her entire body stiffened at his approach, she did not make an effort to dispose of the drying tear tracks advancing towards her chin.

He had hoped that returning to the Gryffindor Common Room would help to give her strength. Perhaps, by being there, she held the hope that the essence of Gryffindor magnanimity would flow back into her. But she was already the bravest woman Albus knew.

"Do not berate me, Albus; I have a free lesson right now and I can spend it in whichever way I wish." Her choked voice caught him in his contemplations. It grated on his eardrums and sent shivers straight down his spine.

Albus did not bother to reply. She was right, of course, but he was not concerned with her words. Instead, he approached her slowly, tentatively, as if he were approaching a hippogriff, and reached a hand out to come into contact with her wrist.

Minerva felt her friend's hand close around her wrist and she was compelled to turn fully towards him for the first time. It was odd, she admitted, seeing him as a slightly gawky red-headed teenager. Then, she thought, he must be quite disorientated seeing her in such a state.

Her mind, it seemed, was devoid of all conscious thought when she leaned towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Everything she needed to say was poured out in a single embrace. Albus pulled her closer and stroked her hair gently, eliciting a further barrage of hot tears to burst from Minerva's eyes. Albus, knowing his friend all too well, did not comment on this. It was a long while before Albus whispered into her ear a seemingly random question.

"What class are you supposed to be taking next?"

"What?" She sniffled feebly.

"I believe you mean 'pardon', my dear." The vague giggle that escaped Minerva's mouth told him that he had succeeded in cheering her up, if only a fraction. "Tell me which class you are supposed to teach next."

"Why?"

"Because I will not let my best friend be seen in such a condition," he said in his best Headmaster voice, reserved for only the most special events (such as a failed Weasley prank). "Do not protest! You will return to your quarters, take an incredibly long bubble bath with a nice little novel and return to the Great Hall for break time."

"But –"

"That is an order, Professor."

Minerva could not help but smile.

* * *

><p>History of Magic. Just brilliant. At least they would not have to listen to Professor Binns's coma-inducing rants. They would just have to suffer the coma-inducing rants of some other Professor.<p>

The mood amongst the third year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws was generally low, as was to be expected with History of Magic as their next lesson. They filed into the classroom in silence, carefully peering around to catch the first glimpse of their teacher for the lesson. Knowing their luck it would be Professor Binns as usual; Harry doubted that any of the other Professors would willingly swap with him. Though, it did not look like they had entered into the Teacher Swap willingly at all.

"Good morning, good morning!" The cheerful tones of Professor Dumbledore's voice caught everybody by surprise. "How are we today? Don't be afraid, I promise not to bite you," he added when the class silently descended upon their desks.

"Now, who can tell me the names of the wizards who started the anti-Pureblood movement of 1749?"

Hermione's hand shot straight into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Anton, MacKay, Armstrong, Poel, Rolleston and Chykov."

"Very good. Take ten points for Gryffindor. Now, can you tell me how they started their revolution? Nobody? Well, then… let me show you."

The Headmaster plucked a small white bag out of the pocket of his magenta robes (which went magnificently with his hair, I might add) and placed it on the table. From it, he extracted several citrus yellow lozenges and lined them up neatly across the front desk.

"If you will all gather around the front, please, we will start the demonstration."

Somewhat astounded, the class crept to the front of the class to gather around the desk which Professor Dumbledore had just expanded to reach along the length of the classroom. With a wave of his wand, the lemon drops he had taken from his pocket were miniature figures that moved along the table freely.

"Now, the idea that blood did not determine somebody's prospects was one that, by the 1700s had been secretly circulating throughout the wizarding community." At his words, the figures began to mill around, whispering animatedly to each other. "Jeremiah MacKay was really the first to start the more public circulation of this notion." A small figurine did a cartwheel on the table before removing its hat and bowing exaggeratedly to the class, earning giggles from many of the girls. "He and his childhood friend, Anthony Poel, who himself was a Pureblood wizard, gathered together the small band of followers that Miss Granger told us about earlier…"

The lesson continued much in this manner, with Professor Dumbledore narrating the animated battles between anti-Purebloods and old blood status supporters. Harry thought that it may just have been the best History of Magic lesson in history. Scratch that, he _knew _that it was.

Therefore, the trip to the Great Hall for break time was carried out with a particularly pleasant spring to his steps.

* * *

><p>The Great Hall was still somewhat tense, partly due to Professor Snape's continues absence and partly due to the fact that everybody was anxious to avoid another of Professor McGonagall's outbursts. Thankfully, the latter Professor was already consumed in conversation with the Headmaster, whose eyes had recovered their usual twinkle.<p>

Hermione, somewhat relieved, turned to Ron.

"They look happy, don't they?" It was actually more of a statement than a question. _Perhaps, _she thought happily, _everything will be normal again soon. _

Then she remembered; this was Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>The door to the Charms classroom swung open to reveal Madam Pomfrey sitting behind Professor Flitwick's desk. It was evident that she was less than happy to have left her Hospital Wing in the care of another; she was practically scowling at the piece of parchment before her.<p>

_Fantastic, double Charms with an aggravated Mediwitch._

It seemed that everybody was having the same thought.

"Just what we need," said Ron conspiratorially, "McGonagall the second." Harry secretly believed that he deserved the dead arm that Hermione gave him.

"Settle down, you lot, settle down," the matron called in her sternest tone, usually reserved for students suffering Quidditch-related injuries and Professors who were negligent of their own health (i.e. the majority of them). "Now, Professor Flitwick has suggested that we take a look at Cheering Charms today."

_Oh, the irony!_

* * *

><p>Lunch was a hurried affair that afternoon. Ron was hastily munching on a bacon sandwich as Hermione was bombarding them with details of her newly-formed plans to find the culprits of the previous nights failed attack, each one more improbable than the last.<p>

"… But we always have Harry's cloak. We could sneak into the Slytherin Common Room and listen in on their conversations. Or we could slip Malfoy some Veritaserum."

"So you admit that you think it was Malfoy?"

"No. I am merely saying that it would be prudent to question him as he seems to be the main staple of the Slytherin gossip mill."

"Where are we going to get Veritaserum from?"

"We'll have to steal some from Snape's supply cupboard. Oh, don't look at me like that, Harry! It's not like we haven't done stuff like this before."

At that moment, Hermione's voice dropped off. Her attention, it seemed, had been caught by Professor Lupin, who had entered the Great Hall with Professor Dumbledore and was now looking to him intently.

"I am afraid, what with Severus being… incapacitated, that the wolfsbane has not been prepared because he has missed the vital phases to pick ingredients and the like. But I am trying, as we speak, to think of a way to get some." This was the only snatch of Professor Dumbledore's lengthy reply to Professor Lupin's query that Hermione could catch.

"Now try telling me that we don't need to do anything," she said pointedly. Harry had to admit, he thought she was right.

As they made their way towards Muggle Studies, they were each silently formulating their own plans to get to the bottom of this. All thoughts of diabolical Slytherin torture methods were dissipated, however, when a booming voice rang out from inside the Muggle Studies classroom.

"Alrigh' 'arry? 'ermione? Ron?" Hagrid's large frame looked distinctly out of place as he ducked his jovial head under the door frame and beckoned the class to enter the room. More than one Hufflepuff student looked uncomfortable by Hagrid's looming figure.

"Wotcher, Hagrid," Ron replied chirpily.

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry and Hermione chorused.

"Righ', you lot, settle down," Hagrid murmured uncomfortably. The class descended slowly, reluctantly, into silence. Harry, Ron and Hermione had resigned to sending reassuring smiles to the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, who seemed to be less than comfortable in his new surroundings.

In fact, the entire lesson consisted of Hagrid trying – and failing to an extent where it was almost painful to watch – to explain the function of various items of Muggle kitchenalia, punctuated only by a few bravely asked questions that Hagrid was unable to answer. Oh, he had tried his best, but Hagrid often found in his lifetime that his best was rarely good enough.

* * *

><p>The Golden Trio filed into the Potions classroom with a heavy sense of trepidation considering their last experience in the dungeons. Professor Sprout, for once not covered in dirt, was smiling her usual cheerful smile at the ever-so-slightly terrified students. How could she be beaming when they were all so intent upon avoiding another de-aging mishap?<p>

"Oh, now don't you lot look sullen?" she asked in a tone that held a barely-concealed kindness that was distinctly Hufflepuff. "I know you are all worried about more brewing disasters, aren't you?" A few students ventured to nod at the Herbology Professor's inquiry and a solemn smile formed on her round face. "Well, you won't need to worry your heads about that this afternoon; we will be discussing the effect of certain plants when they are added to a steeping potion."

Neville's face lit up.

The rest of the class groaned inwardly.

After about ten minutes of attempting to hold a decent discussion, it seemed that only Neville was paying attention to Professor Sprout and she, in turn, had decided that the rest of the class were lost causes; the pair were currently locked in what Harry was sure was a _riveting _conversation about Venemous Tentacula venom in some obscure boil-raising potion.

He and Ron, however, were locked in a bout of what had now become known as Snape-bashing. _And that is not what you people are thinking, you naughty saucepots!_ Basically, this consisted of sitting around and saying horrible things about the man until they were sure that they would die due to an overload of negative Karma.

"I was thinking of slipping a bit of shampoo into his treatment set. Pomfrey's face would be priceless," Ron chuckled.

"Not as good as Snape's if he ever found out," Harry added. "Although, I was tempted to sneak up there and turn his robes a lovely shade of pink."

"Greasy git could do with a bit of colour," Rod nodded in agreement. "And while we're on the subject of improving appearances, I wonder if we could do something about his nose? It's starting to block out the sunlight whenever he's around."

"I don't think that's his nose; he just has that effect on people. You know, like a Dementor. He just wipes away all of the colour in the vicinity."

"Maybe he needs a girlfriend."

"Maybe he needs a good –"

Hermione, while ignoring the disgusting speculations of her peers and failing to interject herself into the only studious conversation in the room, wondered whether Professor Dumbledore knew how much his idea of a morale-booster was affecting the education of his students.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Minerva McGonagall had been forced to undertake an entire afternoon shift in the Hospital Wing since Poppy was teaching Charms and Severus was still incapacitated. Luckily, there was only one student in the vicinity. Oliver Wood had sustained a Bludger-related injury and had seemed to rather enjoy telling his Head of House all about it, apparently forgetting that she had witnessed the match and would be able to pick out the embellishments he added to the story.<p>

" – So I went straight into a dive, right in front of Alicia Spinnet, to stop the Bludger from getting to her and took a solid blow to the back of the head." He finished his fervently-told tale with a grand gesture towards his scarred head.

"I know, Mr. Wood," Minerva smiled lightly. "And I have never been more proud of you." Remembering herself quickly, she rose from the chair at his bedside and began a basic examination of the Gryffindor Keeper, ignoring his slightly embarrassed smirk. "Are you still feeling the pain in your head?"

"Ah, it comes and goes," he said, dismissing it with a gesture. "Haven't had it in a while, though."

"Right, well, this should help in the meantime." She silently summoned a vial of clear liquid and thrust it into his palm. "You seem to have made an excellent recovery, Mr. Wood. In fact, I would say you were about ready to go back to your studies. Madam Pomfrey hasn't told you why she has kept you here, has she?"

Wood seemed a little reluctant to answer.

"Something about needing to rest, I think." He then added in almost a whisper, "I think she's probably overreacting, though."

Thanks to her feline hearing ability, Minerva caught the last and shot her student a knowing smile.

"Aye, well, I think that means that you should stay here for the time being. I certainly do not intend to incur the wrath of Madam Pomfrey any time soon."

Both teacher and student were noticeably surprised when a groggy voice sounded from the other end of the ward.

"Honestly, you call yourself a Gryffindor, woman?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Well... this got a little angstier in the middle than I had anticipated. For that I apologize. While we are apologizing, I would also like to say sorry, on behalf of Messrs Potter and Weasley, to all Snape-lovers for the minor Snape-bashing near the end of this chapter. And this turned out a little more segmented than I had thought it would, but I did try to get at least a little of each of the day's lessons in. So... yes... I am sorry for this chapter... _

_Next chapter: A little sleuthing and the dreaded detentions!_


	5. Astronomical

_A/N: Okay, I got bored without Severus…_

* * *

><p>Severus Snape felt as though his head had just been torn apart by a rabid thestral. And he could smell the overpowering aroma of ginger, which meant only one thing; Minerva Bloody McGonagall.<p>

"Aye, well, I think that means that you should stay here for the time being. I certainly do not intend to incur the wrath of Madam Pomfrey any time soon." Her voice sounded like crashing metal cutlery through his mind to the point where he was willing her just to shut up.

"You call yourself a Gryffindor, woman?" Severus managed to say. His throat was dry from a day of dehydration so his words were raspy, as though the back of his throat were crumpled parchment.

Far from incurring the wrath of her famous Scottish temper, Severus was proud to find that he had rendered the witch speechless. Her bright green eyes widened and her fuller-than-usual lips parted far enough to let a Flobberworm into her mouth. She shook her mane of ebony locks and, before he could cast a defensive spell, she hurtled towards him like a madwoman.

"Stop assaulting me, will you?" Severus cried indignantly as he struggled against the surprisingly strong arms that were now wrapped around him.

"Severus Tobias Snape you will never do anything like this to us ever again, do you hear? You had us worried sick." Severus highly doubted that but did, if only for a second, enjoy the sparkle it gave to his ego.

"I would have thought you would have been organizing parades and throwing parties."

"Don't be so daft you ignorant Slytherin fool!" _He's been awake for minutes, and he has already started the verbal duel, _thought Minerva.

"Is that the best you've got?" Severus quirked a questioning eyebrow at the older… _no, younger_… _but technically she was older_… witch.

"No. I can mortify you further by hugging you again," she said, causing Severus's jaw to gape horridly. "Or, then again, you might actually enjoy it."

"Keep your filthy paws away from me you flea-infested bagpipe," he protested angrily.

"Aww, Severus! You called me a bagpipe. You _are _back to normal." Minerva reached down once more and embraced his reluctant frame before rising regally and turning to face an astounded Oliver Wood.

"If you tell anybody about this, I shall personally ensure that you stay in detention until you graduate."

* * *

><p>Twenty nervous and annoyed third-year students were ushered in to the unusually dark Transfiguration classroom. The evening was drawing in around the castle, draping its walls in a black blanket and leaving the candles to flicker in a vain attempt to keep the place lit. It seemed that the night sky was much keener to take over from the day than usual.<p>

Before the large mahogany desk stood not their Transfiguration Professor, but Headmaster Dumbledore, himself. His bright purple robes would have looked cheerful in the light of day, however the dim cast of the candles made them seem darker and more sombre. His face, it appeared, reflected that.

"Take a seat please," he said quietly, motioning for them all to sit at a desk. The class obeyed in uncomfortable silence. Harry and Ron took one desk, while Hermione sat at the one next to them and was shortly joined by a sheepish looking Neville. Albus sighed as he looked upon the class; Slytherins were seated on the right and Gryffindors on the left. A clear divide.

_Isn't there always_?

"I am sure," said he, "that I need not remind you of the seriousness of this failed practical joke; you are all intelligent enough to see that. Also, I believe that you are intelligent enough to see that it can be easily and maturely rectified, if only the culprit were to come forth. Therefore, I am giving you a final chance to own up before you condemn your classmates to a series of dull detentions."

His eyes swept the room and, as always, Harry could have sworn that the Headmaster looked straight through him. That particular look was always unnerving.

"Nobody?" Silence. "Very well," he sighed. "You will all take out your parchment and quills and write one hundred times, '_Practical jokes are unacceptable and harmful_'."

There was a general groan from the class, followed by the shuffle of people rifling through their bags. Professor Dumbledore descended upon the chair behind the desk. He entwined his long fingers and looked out over them, as he was prone to doing when entering into deep thought.

Harry was also in his own realm of thought. He was currently acting as facilitator for the notes being frantically sent between Ron and Hermione. It seemed they were have a – shall we say – _discussion _about how to find out who was the idiot keeping them in detention.

_But we always blame Malfoy!_

And? You go along with it too! Or do you fancy him now?

_No, RONALD!_

Don't call me that.

_Then stop being so horrible!_

**Are we going to check up on Malfoy or not?**

I say we do it.

_Fine. Just give me a second. And be careful, I thought I saw Professor Dumbledore looking our way._

Albus found his gaze fixed firmly upon the three students that had been dubbed as The Golden Trio in his mind, his thoughts wrenched away from an office not too far from where he sat. They were frantically scribbling on parchment before pushing the little pieces in front of each other. This constant cycle was only disrupted by the odd glance up to check that the Headmaster did not have his eye on them. Every time they did happen to glance his way, Albus had masked his gaze.

He knew that they were only trying to do good.

He also knew that Minerva would kill him if she knew that he had let them pass notes during detention.

_Sometimes, _he mused, _the benefits outweigh the costs. _Besides, having students looking into other students would be much more successful than having everybody interrogated by teachers. Albus had had an inkling as to who may have been the culprit, but it would not do for a Headmaster to start accusing students willy-nilly. That would just be another mistake to fan the flames that were still raging following last year's Chamber of Secrets fiasco (now known to the Headmaster as Riddlegate).

When his attention was caught by the three again, Albus almost felt his jaw hit the ground. Hermione Granger – intelligent, mostly rule-abiding, Minerva McGonagall the Second, Hermione Granger – lifted her wand and pointed it at the bag of Draco Malfoy, who was seated a few desks away from her. A second later, a folded piece of parchment was in the clever Gryffindor's grasp after having swerved expertly around the feet of her fellow students. Albus was flabbergasted. Not only because she was using magic beyond the expected third-year level, but also because she so nonchalantly _stole _what looked like a timetable from Mr. Malfoy's bag.

Harry and Ron craned over the parchment that Hermione had just thrust in front of them. It was the Slytherin Third-year timetable, courtesy of Malfoy. It seemed they were all sharing Astronomy class tonight, but then no classes again until Friday. They could not afford to wait that long.

Either ambush them tonight or descend upon them following one of their morning classes.

"The sooner the better, I say," whispered Ron, as if reading Harry's mind.

So it was decided.

* * *

><p>After an excruciatingly dull hour and a half in detention, the Gryffindors and Slytherins shuffled off to their respective Common Rooms for the half hour that remained until that night's Astronomy lesson.<p>

"I say we grab Harry's cloak and stalk them until he says something incriminating." Ron and Hermione were still discussing – _ahem – _the best strategy to use in their sleuthing as Harry trailed along in their wake.

"Oh, Ron, we can't just wait under a cloak for Malfoy to make a slip! We'll be seventy before he says anything," Hermione fumed, her cheeks turning a shade of red that would rival that of Ron's ears, which were beginning to blend in with his hair.

"Well, what would _you _suggest, oh mighty boffin?" Ron threw his arms wide.

"Scurvy cur," said Harry.

"What?" Both Ron and Hermione wheeled around to glare at him.

"The password," replied Harry simply. "We're at the Common Room." Evidently, neither of his friends had noticed for they both looked around them in astonishment. It seemed that their argument had been enough to consume their minds and divert them from the conscious notion of where their feet were carrying them.

They stepped through the portrait hole in strained silence.

* * *

><p>The hands of the old grandfather clock in the Gryffindor Common Room were creeping perilously close to reading <em>eight o'clock.<em> This meant, of course, that the third-year lions would soon have to drag themselves up to the Astronomy tower, their bags heavy with star charts and constellation books. Along with aforementioned Astronomy gear, Harry hastily shoved his trusty Invisibility Cloak into his now packed school bag.

Ron and Hermione had evidently entered into their usual post-disagreement we-shall-never-speak-again… until tomorrow… silences. Harry, usually willing to make the most of the rare peace and quiet, wished that they would just give up. They glided along the corridors, silent as the ghosts and shadows that lurked around corners and behind statues. Until, that was, Harry stopped his friends in their tracks in a corridor some yards from the stairs to the Astronomy tower.

He raised a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture to attempt to communicate to them that he had just heard something other than their own footsteps. In a flash, the Invisibility Cloak was ripped from his bag and flung over their heads. They had to stoop to prevent their feet from visibly sticking out from underneath it.

Seconds later, a knot of unfriendly-looking Slytherins materialised at the entrance to the corridor. Draco Malfoy was surrounded by a band of adoring followers, oddly not including Crabbe and Goyle, who, these days, were as good as bodyguards to him.

"But I thought he was aiming for McGonagall?" asked a heavyset Slytherin boy in a silken, almost rehearsed, voice.

"He was," drawled Malfoy as though the question were completely redundant. "But I bet that he could get _any _teacher. I never specified which one. So now I'm three Galleons richer and he's a marked man. What a shame it would be if Dumbledore were to find out it was him." A round of nervous laughter rippled around the congregated Slytherins as they disappeared from view once more.

This snippet of information had been enough to cause Hermione, once fully visible again, to send a triumphant smirk in Ron's direction.

"I told you that we shouldn't blame Malfoy for everything!" her voice was marred with the distinctive tone of one who has just had their point proved very nicely by a chance encounter.

"Well, he's got to have done something, hasn't he?"

After that astounding piece of logic from Mr. Weasley, the trio headed once more off to the Astronomy tower. Once they arrived they found that Professor Sinistra had been replaced by a short witch with long brown hair and a mousy aura about her features. Hermione quickly notified him that the Professor before them was Professor Septima Vector, Arithmancy specialist and number-manipulator extraordinaire. Obviously, not having taken Arithmancy, Harry had not immediately been able to connect a name to her tired face.

One thing was evident in her face, and that was that Professor Vector was definitely not a night owl. Her eyes bore the shadows of a person who had forced themselves into a state of bare consciousness, probably with the help of copious amounts of caffeine.

"Good evening, class," she said in a voice that would suggest that the evening were anything but _good_. "Now, if you will all take out your star charts, please, we can get started straight away." To her credit, Professor Vector did manage to retain an air of composure despite her burgeoning discomfort.

Once she was certain that the class had followed her instructions, Professor Vector swished her wand in a single complex motion that left a cluster of silvery orbs in its wake, suspended in midair.

"Now, can anyone name this constellation?"

As expected, Hermione's hand shot into the air. Unexpectedly, she was beaten to it. By Pansy Parkinson.

"It's the Cassiopeia constellation. They say that she is chained to the sky and hangs upside down as punishment for her boastfulness."

"Very good, Miss Parkinson." Even Professor Vector took a moment to register the fact that it was indeed Pansy Parkinson who had spoken. "Ten points to Slytherin," she smiled as she used the tip of her wand to blaze a path to link up each pin prick of a 'star'.

"Now, according to your star charts, this constellation should be easily visible tonight, so the first to find it will receive twenty points for their House. Off you go."

Everybody, for once, rushed to their telescopes.

* * *

><p>Albus Dumbledore hummed merrily as he bobbed down the corridors. He had just finished his evening rounds and, for once, had not been thoroughly exhausted by them. <em>Perhaps, <em>he thought, _I should try this De-aging lark more often._

His cheerful hum turned into an outright whistle as he reached the first floor (well, nobody was going to hear him!). That was, until the shock of heavily-accented voices disrupted his placated mood.

"What the _hell _did you think you were playing at?" A slight pause before the speaker continued. "Forget that, _how long _was it going on?"

"Don't be ridiculous –" The second voice, also carrying a thick Scottish tinge, was noticeably male, while the first was female. There was no question as to who they were (though the fact that they were in the Deputy Headmistress's office may have been a bit of a giveaway.

"Ridiculous? ME? CAN YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF SPEAK?"

"I won't talk to you while you are in this state." The statement alone, though spoken in a calm enough tone, was enough to send the woman spiralling into a deeper fury.

"Oh, whatever will I do without the _honour _of hearing more of your never-ending stream of lies?" Sarcasm coloured her words and Albus could almost picture the look of disdain that would doubtless be etched on her features. The man, however, seemed to be unfazed by this.

"Please find me when you are prepared to discuss things like adults," he replied icily.

"GET OUT!" she screamed. A faint popping told Albus that the man had left the office via the Floo network and that it may be just a tad safer to enter it now.

Every step towards the door was heavy and wary. A single wrong step, he knew, could spark off a volatile reaction from the Transfiguration Professor. As he opened the door to the office, Albus was met by the distinct sound of crashing porcelain. He fought the instinct to duck and flinch, and found Minerva kneeling in the middle of the room, the magic still crackling around her.

Silently, he approached her curled-up form and placed a slightly shaky hand upon her shoulder. She flinched at the sudden contact.

"I thought you had learned to control that, Minerva," he said in a voice that was reminiscent of the one he had used all those years ago when she had been a student.

"It's called 'accidental' magic for a reason, Albus." The dry retort was to be expected.

"I know." It was idiotic, he knew, but it was all he could think of saying. He waved his wand at the remnants of an exploded teacup and it repaired itself in a flurry of sparkles and porcelain. There was a long moment of nothingness before Albus decided to take a seat on the floor opposite his friend. "What happened?"

"He did it again, Albus," was the mumbled reply.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what you mean. What did he do?" Albus was quite aware that the 'he' to whom she was referring was her husband, Matthew (also known as _The Scottish Stallion_, a nickname of Albus's creation that had surfaced after he had first been accused of infidelity).

"He's been having an affair." Now, as she finally looked up into his eyes, Albus could see the growing redness and tell-tale sheen of imminent tears, ones she would normally fight so desperately to hold back, excepting, of course, during particularly poignant Quidditch matches or the annual student graduations.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I went home to surprise him." Finally, the sobs began. "He… he was actually with her when I got there." In an instant, her face transformed into an image of pure rage. "In _our _bed."

He could not think of a suitable reply.

"She thought I was his daughter, you know," she replied distraughtly. "You should have seen her face when I told her. He was in utter shock, of course. Evidently, my owl never arrived to tell him of the De-aging mishap."

"Then perhaps it is best it didn't." Minerva sent a questioning look his way.

"What?"

"If it had arrived," Albus explained, "he would have replied and probably would not have paid him a surprise visit. Then he would still be carrying on behind your back."

"Is it wrong that I think I would rather not know?" Her response to his calm logic was somewhat perplexing and not at all what he would have expected from the stern Deputy Headmistress. Then again, they were exactly what he would expect from Minerva, the girl… _woman_… who had never truly shed her childish side.

"Not at all. There's always a well-aimed _Obliviate _to take it all away," he said in an attempt to elicit a smile from her sharp features. The attempt failed.

"I just don't know what I can do, Albus." The despair in her voice pained him to an extent that he had never before felt.

"You will forgive him, Minerva," he said sagely. "Then you will have the best make up session you have ever had and you'll tell your best friend all about it afterwards." It happened every time. Every time she found it in her all-too-large heart to forgive the moron and trust him again, Albus would be there, both to bear the bront of her frustration and to listen to her hopes for their future.

While he could see that she held back a laugh, her face became stony again within seconds.

"I don't think so," she said. "Not this time."

"But you did before. You always forgive. If you did not love him, you would not forgive him."

"Maybe I am tired of forgiving. Maybe I can forgive no longer," her voice was rising with every syllable. "Maybe I feel like I deserve somebody who _actually _wants me as I am, not as I was years ago. Maybe that isn't him anymore."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I do apologize for the delay on this chapter; it has been a very busy period of time, of late._


	6. Unexpected Talents

_A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews and apologies for last chapter's cliffhanger! This chapter is a bit shorter for now, but the next is almost comlete._

* * *

><p>After Astronomy with Professor Vector, the Golden Trio had spent much longer than they had anticipated in speculating on who could have poisoned Snape (not that they felt sorry for him, of course). So it was with heavy limbs that Harry extracted himself from his unusually soft four-poster. He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he pulled on his uniform and trudged towards the Great Hall for breakfast on this stormy Thursday morning.<p>

Ron, on the other hand, was far too cheerful. Although, this was probably due to the promise of an abundance of hot food.

The rain battered the windows, each droplet striking the panes before jumping back as if electrocuted, darkening the corridors to a deep shade of grey. As he walked through the fourth floor, Harry could see the water-logged Quidditch pitch as well as a few dementors floating menacingly, unimpeded by the storm around them. When they finally reached the Great Hall, the ceiling was a murky, dire mix of dark clouds and raindrops that fell and stopped only inches from the heads of the students.

Harry was pleased to note that the De-aging effects on Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore seemed to be waning slightly. The former, he saw as she strode between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, had grown several inches taller and looked to be, at least, in her mid-twenties. The Headmaster's auburn hair was longer than it had been, bearing even the occasional speck of grey, but he did seem to have retained his lithe teenage frame. The fact that Snape was still not at the Head table, despite news having travelled that he was now awake, also contributed to Harry's considerably lightened mood.

Or perhaps it was the smell of the freshly-cooked bacon before him.

Hermione elbowed Ron in the stomach as he reached for a sausage and caused him to double over, clutching the affected area.

"What was that for?" he wheezed.

She said nothing in reply but nodded, instead, towards the Head table, where Professor Dumbledore had risen from his seat.

"Before you all tuck in to this delicious breakfast," he announced in a voice noticeably deeper than before, his eyes lingering momentarily on the youngest Mr. Weasley, "I have a few notices that may apply to you. Firstly, all Care of Magical Creatures lessons for the day have been cancelled. In their place, the students who have this lesson timetabled will report to the Great Hall. Herbology, I am told, will still be held in the greenhouses.

"Also, I have been asked by Mr. Filch to remind those who feel it necessary to venture outside in this dreadful weather," Harry could have sworn that Dumbledore was looking at him, "to take the utmost care upon re-entering the castle." Harry severely doubted that those were the words that the caretaker had _actually _used. "I would suggest a well-cast _Impervius _charm. For the younger students, I urge you to visit a teacher before you leave so that they may cast an _Impervius _charm for you to prevent you getting wet. Now, please, do continue with your meal."

There was a hearty cheer of appreciation from several students including Ron, of course, which was followed up by a few well-aimed glares from both Hermione and McGonagall.

Breakfast went on smoothly, with most people eating abnormally large portions (perhaps it was an effect of the weather), until only ten minutes remained before the first lesson of the day.

In a matter of seconds, the previously stormy ceiling was blanketed in a jet black sheet. Tiny pinpricks of light permeated the vast darkness and slowly began to widen. When they had stopped expanding, the orbs of light spelled out a clear message.

'THE END IS NEAR'.

This inevitably caused quite a disturbance among the students, and, it seemed, an even larger one with the staff. Professor Trelawney toppled from her chair, dislodging her over-sized spectacles as she went, screaming:

"It's a siiiiiiign!"

Pandemonium ensued. First-years screamed at the sight of the Divination teacher falling, older students collapsed into gales of laughter, the Weasley twins stood on their benches and began a loud and somewhat out of tune rendition of the school song. Suffice to say, it was chaos.

In unison, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sinistra raised their wands and each let off a series of eardrum-bursting shots.

"YOU WILL CEASE THIS MADNESS IMMEDIATELY!" shouted McGonagall, her cheeks a dark shade of crimson. The sound stopped even Professor Sprout, who had been unsuccessfully trying to drag Trelawney to her feet.

"Messrs Weasley will report to my office at once," bellowed the Headmaster. Adding, as Ron allowed a bemused look to cross his face, "Not you, Ronald." Of course, Ron's ears, chameleon-like as they were, began to merge with his hair.

* * *

><p>Fred and George Weasley were grinning madly.<p>

For any other student, being summoned to the Headmaster's office would be a terrifying ordeal, but for these two it was something of a habit. The random instruments scattered about the room seemed to be whirring a little more quickly than usual.

As they had expected, the Headmaster entered just after they had comfortably seated themselves and, in a flurry of dark purple robes, he performed his customary attempting-to-be-intimidating sweep around the edge of his organised desk. Even Fawkes seemed to roll his eyes from his perch.

"Now, I am sure you are aware of the effects of this morning's little practical joke," began Dumbledore, his eyes glittering madly. "I shall have to take twenty House points each from you – do not try to deny it, Mr. Weasley; I saw you cast the spell."

Fred and George both looked crestfallen.

"However, for sheer ingenuity, take ten points each for Gryffindor." The twins beamed at the Headmaster's words and were just on their way out when Dumbledore said: "That charm impressed even Professor Flitwick, you know. Just be a little more careful of the possibility of staff heart attacks; we don't want another Professor Binns incident on our hands."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, the students were being ushered out by Professors Lupin, Burbage and Vector. Filius Flitwick, it seemed, had given up on helping all together and had resigned himself to chuckling quietly at the sight of Sybil Trelawney falling from her chair that would be forever etched into the recesses of his considerable mind, ready for whenever he needed a spot of cheering up. Speaking of Sybil Trelawney, she now stood behind her seat at the staff table, ignoring the delighted smirk of the Transfiguration Mistress.<p>

"You know, Sybil, I would have thought that you could have foreseen this morning's pandemonium," she said sharply as Trelawney set about rearranging her many glittering shawls and rows of beads.

"The Inner Eye," the Divination Professor began in the dreamy tone that she usually adopted in the classroom, "does not trifle in such trivial matters, nor does it work at my own will."

"Not even when it is 'a siiiiiiign'?"

Trelawney did not even dignify this with a retort, opting instead to sniff loudly and force her small nose as far into the air as possible without having to stare at the ceiling.

* * *

><p>The first lesson of the day for the Golden Trio was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Their instructor for the lesson, they soon discovered, was Professor Burbage, usually of Muggle Studies. She entered the classroom looking more than a little flustered, her blonde hair escaping its ponytail in delicate wisps. After a hasty "good morning" and an introduction for those who had not elected to undertake Muggle Studies, Professor Burbage began the lesson.<p>

"Now… erm… Muggle defence is rather different to wizarding defence and, you never know, it may come in handy if you are ever disarmed in battle." She smiled nervously around the class as if they were lions that had been starved for several days.

"Professor, I'm sorry, isn't this Defence Against the _Dark Arts_? Wouldn't a dark wizard just kill you right there if you were disarmed?" As much as he hated to admit it, Harry could not help but think that Malfoy _did_ have a point.

"Well… erm… that as may be… I think we who are gifted with magic should… erm… respect that Muggles do… know what they are doing."

The class did not look impressed.

"Now, everybody find a partner."

"Is she serious?" asked Ron as the students shuffled about to try and find their best friend.

"I think so," Harry replied vaguely.

"Wait, what are we going to do about Hermione?" Ron's face turned immediately from one of confusion to one of concern. "We can't let her be paired up with Millicent Bulstrode like in the duelling club last year."

"Well, you pair up with Hermione and I'll find Neville."

"I can't fight a girl!" his eyes bulged in their sockets. Harry almost asked whether Ron was scared of Hermione, but restrained himself.

"It's that or let her face the wrath of Bulstrode the Brash," he said.

"Fine," Ron grumbled. He moved over to Hermione, saying something that Harry's ears never quite caught. Harry shuffled off to find Neville.

An hour later, the lesson was nearing its end and more than a few bruises had been acquired.

"You're all doing beautifully," announced Professor Burbage while she walked among the 'duelling' pairs. "Muggle duelling is something special, isn't it?"

Ron turned, ready to answer the question with a firm '_no', _but, in doing so, his attention was distracted from Hermione, who had just raised her leg into a sharp kick. Had Ron been looking, he could have easily blocked the blow. As it were, he was not looking. Hermione's foot collided agonizingly with his groin. He doubled up in pain for the second time that day.

* * *

><p>Ron was still wincing with each step as they climbed the stairs to the Divination tower. Hermione continued to apologize to him every few steps or so, but Ron was ignoring her completely. No matter how hard he tried, Harry could not blame him.<p>

The silence continued as the three climbed up the spindly ladder and through the trapdoor into the Divination classroom. The air was, thankfully, devoid of its usual lashings of sickly sweet perfume but the tables – unfortunately, in Harry's eyes – were still laden with crystal balls and tea cups. Ron and Hermione both took seats on either side of Harry.

"Ron, why can't you just accept my apology?" Hermione was leaning across Harry now, uncaring of the fact that she was in the way. Ron remained sunken in a sullen silence.

"Ron, just talk to her, will you?" Harry said, wishing only that everything would be back to normal soon; he always detested when his two best friends would argue, which was not exactly a rare occurrence.

Seconds later, the huge form of Hagrid struggled through the trapdoor with great difficulty.

"Mornin', class." As Hagrid entered the room fully, his large leg collided with one of the tiny tables, sending crystal balls, tea sets and books soaring through the air. The resulting crash as Hagrid's body followed the trinkets to the floor was enough for Harry to feel a slight vibration under his feet as the wooden floor shook.

With the help of Ron, who had jumped up immediately, and Harry, who had been pulled up by Ron, Hagrid stood – red-faced – on terra firma once more. A stream of fast spells from Hermione's part saw to the reparation of the crystal and china, as well as the stacking of the books somewhere less obtrusive.

"Hagrid, are you okay?" Harry said quietly enough so that only the intended recipient could hear. Hagrid cleared his throat, letting Harry know that he had been injured little by the fall. The friends released his arms once they were sure the half-giant was steady on his feet. They returned to their seats just in time to catch Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil sending Hagrid scornful glances (no doubt for his accidently wrecking _their _Divination classroom).

"Now… err… all pour yerselves a nice cup of tea," Hagrid said, evidently pretending that the first few minutes of the lesson had never happened. "Then sit and have a chat."

Only Ron laughed.

"Only jokin'," Hagrid muttered feebly. "Drain it all then let the leaves sit fer a minute." The class obeyed in total silence but for the occasional slurping of tea and chink of china cups and saucers meeting. Hagrid walked gingerly between the rows, careful not to knock anything over, observing the class.

"Now, once you've finished, swap cups and look a' each other's to see what ye can fin'."

There was a swift movement of cups as the lesson went on. Ron and Hermione had fallen into arguing about the image that was in Harry's cup. _At least, _Harry reasoned, _they were talking again_.

"I'm telling you, Hermione, it's an oar!"

"Oh, Ronald, that's not even in the textbooks. It's obvious that it's a snake," Hermione insisted.

"Bit of a funny looking snake, isn't it? It's got bits coming off of it here," Ron retorted, pointing into the cup.

"Need some 'elp over 'ere?" Hagrid appeared at Ron's elbow.

"Hagrid! Maybe you can tell us what this is," Hermione sighed.

"It's a pair of antlers; means tha' an accident is approachin'. And see tha'? There a' the bottom of the cup? Tha's a lily. And 'cause it's a' the bottom, it means anger and strife." Harry's heart dropped. _Cheerful time ahead for me, then_.

"Blimey, Hagrid. I didn't know you were into this sort of thing," Ron exclaimed.

"Gotta 'ave somethin' ter pass the time with," he smiled jovially, even chancing a wink at Harry. "Whose is this, anyway?"

"Mine," Harry said quietly.

"Well, then… ye better watch yerself, Harry."

Seeing Hagrid's surprising aptitude for the art of Divination, the whole class seemed to want him to read their tea leaves. Hermione found an arch and a ladder, both symbols of an upcoming journey. Ron saw a particularly large axe in his leaves, a sight which worried him at first until Harid explained that it signified difficulties overcome. But the most entertaining, perhaps, was Lavender's reading; there, Hagrid saw a lock and key in the tea leaves, which is a warning against the loss of something of value to the drinker. She ranted and raved for ages about how someone would probably try to steal her treasured locket until she was finally subdued and reduced to tears as she remembered that her rabbit was in poor health.

Otherwise, a successful lesson all-round.

* * *

><p>The students filed out, buzzing about the enjoyable lesson they had just had. Harry stayed behind a few minutes after the bell to converse with Hagrid, who seemed rightfully pleased with himself.<p>

As he finally stepped out into the corridor, Harry was affronted by a familiar cracking sound. Before he knew it, a small figure with tennis ball sized eyes stood grinning manically up at him.

"Mr. Harry Potter, Sir," said Dobby cheerfully. "Dobby wanted to thank Sir for his kind help." The House Elf smiled blearily up at him (only reaching just above Harry's knees in height).

"Dobby, what are talking about?" Harry asked, somewhat bewildered.

"Harry Potter left a glass vial with one of Harry Potter's friends to give to Dobby so that Dobby could give it to Mistress Minerva."

"You mean Professor McGonagall?" Harry inquired.

"Oh, yes, Sir. Dobby is always forgetting that names be different for students and teachers." Dobby's face suddenly contorted into an expression of hard anguish. "_Bad_ _Dobby_," he shouted. Luckily there was nothing in the immediate vicinity with which Dobby could inflict any injury upon himself.

"Dobby, what vial are you talking about?"

"The one with Mistress's medicine. Harry Potter's friend said it was of great importance and that Mistress must take it with her evening meal, so Dobby added it to Mistress's vegetables."

Harry was certain that this was how Snape had been poisoned (he had heard Madam Pomfrey mention something about food to Professor Dumbledore as he passed them on his way back to the Common Room the previous afternoon). If he could only find out who had given the venom to Dobby, Harry might be able to solve this whole thing.

"Dobby, who was this friend?"

"I believe his name is Longbottom, Sir."

* * *

><p><em>AN: "ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER?" I hear you scream. Never fear, another chapter is on its way soon._

_I also apologize for the DADA lesson, but I just had this crazy vision of everyone getting into a massive fistfight. On a more personal note, I now reside in Pottermore's Gryffindor Common Room. :)_


	7. Going Soft

Harry's mind was still turning like a carousel as he advanced towards the Great Hall for Care of Magical Creatures. The rain poured still in unrelenting waves.

When he reached his destination, Harry saw Professor Dumbledore standing upon the raised platform that usually housed the Staff Table. As it were, the table was obscured by a vast white screen that hung suspended in midair.

"Gather round, gather round." The Headmaster's low tones resonated easily around the Hall, encouraging the Third-years to shuffle closer towards the screen, in front of which were arranged three benches. It seemed that the House tables had been stacked somewhere behind the screen or perhaps even vanished temporarily.

"A Galleon says he shows us some instructional video on making Muggle sweets," Harry whispered to Ron.

"You're on mate."

"As you can see, I have acquired a sufficient projector as the weather outside remains vulgar and unsuitable for you to undertake your Care of Magical Creatures classes. Therefore, I have brought with me an old Muggle film, unwillingly donated by a Professor who will remain unnamed." He then let out an elaborate cough that bore a striking resemblance to the word '_Snape'_.

The projector whirred into action as the windows magically blacked out and a forced hush descended upon the room. The film seemed to be a recording of a theatre production. _Yes, it was indeed; Antony and Cleopatra, as Professor Dumbledore announced._

An aristocratic-looking, dark-haired woman filled the screen, talking in fluid tones. Although, Harry could make neither head nor tail of what she was saying (Harry Potter was never to be a Shakespeare fan). She quite reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall, albeit an Egyptian Muggle version of her. When he mentioned this to Ron on the way out of the Great Hall, Harry could have sworn he saw Professor Dumbledore smirk.

"You owe me a Galleon, mate," said Ron.

* * *

><p>The next lesson of the day saw the Golden Trio in Herbology under the less-than-watchful eye of Professor Binns. It had taken a full ten minutes to remove the bubblehead charms from the students. Harry decided to take the opportunity to relay to Ron and Hermione what Dobby had told him earlier in the day.<p>

Ron looked rightly confused.

"Well, it can't be Neville! As if Malfoy would make a bet with Neville. It must have been a Slytherin using his name." Harry thought guiltily back to the time that he had used Neville's name when aboard the Knight Bus. "It's the only explanation, isn't it? Dobby's never actually been _introduced _to Neville, has he?"

"I think Dobby prefers to introduce himself," Harry said, his mind wandering back to the day when Dobby had first appeared in his bedroom in Privet Drive._ Yes, Dobby certainly was the type to introduce himself first._

"I say we ask him anyway," Hermione whispered as Professor Binns floated by as sweepingly as being a ghost would allow. "He did seem to know a lot about the venom," Hermione added almost inaudibly. Harry, however, caught the remark.

"So did you, but we aren't going to start accusing you of trying to poison teachers!"

Both Ron and Hermione scowled at him.

"Is there something that you would like to share with the rest of us?" Professor Binns' mechanical drone sounded from behind them. "Wingleby? Pinter? Gwindlespire?"

Harry could only assume that he was addressing the three of them as he looked back and forth between them.

"We were just discussing the history of how the Venomous Tentacula plant came to Europe, Professor."

_Bless Hermione and her quick thinking._

"Ah, yes. Quite interesting, that. It was first discovered deep in the rainforests of…"

Ron glared at Hermione for the entirety of Professor Binns' tirade, which lasted, in fact, until the bell that signalled the end of the lesson.

* * *

><p>A fleeting shock ran up the back of her hand, through her arm, and she quickly flinched away. She saw him withdraw his hand at the touch of her skin as well.<p>

"Where are you going to keep all of these books?" Albus chuckled as he plucked yet another tome from a cardboard box. "Your bookcases here are already full."

"Have you never heard of an extension charm, Professor?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"What on earth do you mean?" Minerva's voice was challenging in contrast to her previous, jesting question.

"Why all of these boxes when you could have charmed your handbag to carry it all?"

"It's such a terrible bother to get everything out of a charmed bag; I would end up cutting myself." Her reply was too quick. She knew well enough that she could easily prevent injury by summoning the required articles from her bag, but she was damned if she would tell him that it had been but an excuse to stay longer in the house. _Her _house. It may have been her house, but it had not been her home for a long time.

Albus knew exactly what she was thinking and he hadn't even needed to use Legilimency. That was something he prided himself on, being able to tell what she was thinking. Few friends these days could claim such mental intimacy.

However, Albus had also become fairly adept at gauging what her reactions would be to given stimuli. It was because of this ability that he chose to remain silent on the matter.

Silent, in fact, is what they remained for a while. But the silence grew more comfortable in a matter of seconds, as it is accustomed to doing between friends. One cannot usually be angry with a good friend for long.

"How did your Care of Magical Creatures cover lesson go? I bet Hagrid was glad of a rest."

"I doubt that he got that; he spent most of the morning in the rain, trying to cover the flobberworms."

"He should have asked me when I put an Impurturbable charm on the hippogriff pen this morning," Minerva sighed.

"You know how Hagrid is, Minerva."

"He likes his independence," she nodded. "I can relate to that. You're avoiding my question." _The downside of being great friends, _thought Albus, _is that she knows me too. _At what point does it become acceptable for friends to ask each other irritating questions?

"I showed them Cleopatra."

A moment of silence ensued before she turned to him and asked incredulously: "You did _not_?"

"I did," he said.

"What on earth could have possessed you?"

"I quite enjoyed your foray into acting," he shrugged. She answered by leaving the room in a flurry of emerald green. A trail of annoyance simmered in her wake.

"One day, I will murder you, Albus Dumbledore," she shouted from the next room. Albus almost laughed. Almost.

"As you have said many, many, _many _times before."

* * *

><p>"What – may I ask – do you call this?" The trio wheeled around, only to be confronted by the solid form of Professor Snape in his usual black garb.<p>

"I call it walking, Sir," Harry replied in a challenging tone.

"Enough of your cheek, Potter," Snape sneered. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Now, what are you three doing out of bed after hours?"

"We were just heading back to bed, Professor," Hermione squeaked.

"That does not answer my question, Miss Granger, as to why you are out of your beds in the first place." Hermione opened her mouth once more but another voice interrupted before she could retort.

"I am sure that I could ask the same thing of you, Severus." Harry was, for once, relieved to turn around and see Professor McGonagall looming in her tartan dressing gown. She now glared at Snape. "Why are you not in the Hospital Wing? It was the express decision of Madam Pomfrey and myself that you remain there for the rest of the week."

"I have checked myself out," Snape replied simply. "I am sure that you, Minerva, of all people, will understand the tedium that comes with spending an extended amount of time locked up in that awful place; I assume that you and Professor Dumbledore would prefer a sane Potions Master."

"Oh, we have not had one of those in quite some time, Severus," McGonagall smirked. "Now, if you would return to your quarters, I will deal with these three."

Before Snape could protest, McGonagall was shepherding Harry, Ron and Hermione down the dim corridors towards her office. The three students hurried along in the wake of her long strides, not daring to glance back to see whether Snape had taken her advice or had chosen to return and hex them all.

* * *

><p>The portrait of Godric Gryffindor hung proudly across the entrance to McGonagall's office. He stood, sword in hand, among the bracken of an empty moor. All was peaceful when suddenly a Welsh Green dragon swooped into the frame, dousing the landscape in violent flames. Gryffindor leapt into action, jumping wildly about and brandishing his sword in a frenzy of silver. Harry, Ron and Hermione watched the scene with wide eyes. Professor McGonagall, however, seemed less impressed; she shook her head and rolled her eyes.<p>

"Oh, Godric, what have I told you about this?"

Gryffindor, who had just managed to wrestle the dragon into a rather impressive headlock, looked up. Both wizard and dragon wore identical bemused expressions.

"And the portrait of Saint George is tired of his dragon friend vanishing," she added.

A second later, dragon and wizard had disengaged. The former flew off towards a portrait a few frames away while the latter brushed himself down dejectedly.

"Whatever happened to showmanship?" he muttered.

"A lost art, I'm afraid," sighed Professor McGonagall. "Besides, it won't work on these three." She pushed Harry a little closer to the frame so that he stood in line with Ron and Hermione. "These are the ones who managed to tackle the troll."

Harry could have sworn that there was a hint of pride there, under the professional layer of disapproval that coated it.

"In our first year," Ron added, blushing furiously when he realised that everybody had heard him.

"Indeed," Gryffindor murmured. "The elusive Potter, Weasley and Granger. From what I hear, I owe you thanks for upholding my good name."

Hermione blushed a bright scarlet colour.

"Just let us in, please," McGonagall said impatiently.

"The password?" The painted figure spread his hands in question, raising his eyebrow in a movement that rather mirrored the Head of House's.

"Du Maurier." The name of a famous Muggle author, if Harry remembered correctly. He found himself pondering what the significance of the name could be.

"Welcome back, Professor McGonagall," Gryffindor said with a theatrical bow. McGonagall rolled her eyes.

The office was its usual pristine self but for a few brown boxes littering the back corner. Professor McGonagall had just seated herself behind her neatly organised desk when the sound of muffled crashing and profanities came from the next room.

"Minerva? Is that you?"

Professor Dumbledore appeared from a room that – from what Harry could make out through the open door – was the Head of House's bedroom:

"Where do you keep your underwear?" he asked, evidently not sensing the presence of anyone either than his Deputy.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked incredulously at each other. Dumbledore's eyes widened as he looked up to see the three students lined up before the desk. McGonagall's mouth was hanging open rather than pressed into its usual thin line.

"Not like that!" the Headmaster said emphatically as he caught the students' not-so-discreet glances. "I am simply helping Professor McGonagall to organise her belongings."

"And I specifically told you not to go into that particular box," McGonagall hissed in reply, momentarily forgetting the presence of the three Gryffindors.

A warm red spread across his cheeks like the sun creeping across a summer's sky.

"Curiosity often leads to knowledge," he said defensively.

"And, more often, to trouble. Speaking of which," she turned now towards the Golden Trio, "I believe you three have some explaining to do."

"We were going –"

"- back to bed."

"- to find Madam Pomfrey."

"- to retrieve my Transfiguration textbook."

Of course, they all spoke simultaneously. Naturally, McGonagall's eyebrows went through their process of soaring into her hairline before sharply diving towards each other and finishing in a magnificently hawk-like frown.

"I may be getting older, but I know a cover-up when I hear one." This seemed to Harry to be quite a strange thing to say, seeing as she must have reached her early thirties at most. The potion was not yet finished wearing off. "Next time, I suggest that you get your stories straight before you get caught. Now, I am assuming that you will not tell me the true reason why you are out of bed and I doubt that I would like your truthful answer anyway. Therefore you shall each lose fifteen points for Gryffindor and will return immediately to bed. I trust that you will think more carefully before breaking the rules in future. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," they replied.

"Off to bed then, please."

The Golden Trio trudged off towards the Common Room, barely speaking to each other. Until, that is, Ron broke the silence.

"She's going soft in her old age."

Back in McGonagall's office, Albus Dumbledore had plonked himself down onto a sofa with a sherbet lemon and a challenging expression.

"You're going soft in your old age."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I am truly, truly sorry for the lack of update on this – and all of my other – work; coursework has reached a ridiculous level even at this early stage of the school year. Therefore updates will be a little sporadical until the end of term, when I hope to have a little more spare time. I hope you will continue to read, regardless._


	8. They'd Got Him

A deep sigh escaped Minerva McGonagall's dry throat. She slipped out from the warmth of her bedsheets and stumbled through the dark to find her wand. A swift _lumos _spell revealed that it was not just the ungodly hour of the day that was obscuring her vision. Her eyes were returning to their familiar, slightly short-sighted state.

She summoned her square spectacles, pushed them up the bridge of her nose and found herself unconsciously seating herself before her vanity table, an object whose very presence she neglected but for the tricky business of perfecting her usual hairdo.

Things were progressing slowly but progressing they were. She lamented the fine lines that had begun to appear, whose appearance she had had no time to distress over when they had first spread across her face. Now that she had experienced her youth again, Minerva found it distressingly difficult to go back to her normal self. _Funny, _she thought, _how that which one yearns for at first can become so easily detestable._

Setting her vanity and disappointment aside, Minerva pushed herself away from the mirror and conjured a glass from thin air. As she ran the cold water tap in the bathroom (though an _aguamenti _charm would have been undoubtedly quicker, she sometimes preferred to do things the Muggle way), Minerva felt the sudden urge to feel the cool caress of the water on her skin.

Another sleepless night was on its way, she could feel it. Another sleepless night, bringing with it the memories, the regrets, the aches. Where once was warmth, there now sat only an empty cold, an unmistakeable void that she just could not shake.

* * *

><p>A few floors away, Albus Dumbledore was also having trouble finding that wonderful dream-world which he so rarely indulged in. However, this was for an entirely different reason.<p>

"Fawkes! Will you get down from there?"

Albus' pet phoenix was causing unprecedented mayhem.

The wonderfully embroidered cushions bore the tell-tale gashes that were the inevitable consequence of an angry phoenix and its primed talons. Unique silver trinkets that once _whirred_ and _popped_ now lay scattered across the floor like tin soldiers. Albus would be picking the lemon drops from behind the furniture for weeks. The Headmaster sighed deeply as the bird continued to zoom through the air, quite unaware of his owner's unending protests.

Fawkes always was a little tempestuous when he reached the midpoint between rebirth and death or, as Albus liked to call it, his teenage period.

"Fawkes! I will not tell you again to stay away from the pensieve!"

* * *

><p>Severus Snape was irate to say the least. How dare that woman show him up in front of the students? Even if those students were only three trouble-making little Gryffindors, she had made him look like a fool. They had probably been back to her office to snigger about it.<p>

Despite what others may think, even Severus had his pride.

He was never one for overt displays of emotion, but Severus was pacing the floor, something that he was prone to doing in stressful situations. Not that this should be a stressful situation. In fact, on any other day Minerva's complete lack of respect for a fellow colleague would not have fazed – nor surprised – him at all.

A sudden thought struck his mind, a delicious thought that tickled his delight. Payback was in order. _Public_ payback.

* * *

><p>The Gryffindor Common Room was decidedly cold on this particular Thursday evening. Not because of the rain, or the landscape, or the swiftly dwindling fire, mind you. No, it was more an effect of the atmosphere generated by the few remaining students who occupied it. Or, so Neville Longbottom thought. All he had wanted was five minutes to sit quietly alone with the latest book by Fiyero Lopweed on the intricacies of caring for exotic – and inevitably dangerous – magical plants, which he had promised to return to Professor Sprout by Saturday. However, as was often wont to happen to him, Neville was not granted his wish for solitude.<p>

Just as he had settled into his favourite cosy armchair with a chocolate frog and a riveting chapter on the Maltese Mantora Flower, three rabid teenagers had burst through the portrait hole. _They were not rabid you say? Well, we must allow Mr. Longbottom a little artistic license. Where was I? Ah, yes. _Three rabid teenagers burst through the portrait hole and sent a binding curse his way so swiftly that he had not time to reach his wand.

Sometimes, he wondered exactly why he had become friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione. However, the doubts never lasted long.

Now Ron stalked around him as if he were trying to imitate a figure much like Sherlock Holmes or an intimidating member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad.

"Why did you do it, Neville?" he asked, as if Neville should have any idea what he was talking about.

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean," Ron insisted.

"I never touched the Bertie Bott's! I swear it!" Neville exclaimed loudly, his cheeks reddening at their delayed response.

"Maybe he doesn't actually know what we mean, Ronald," Hermione said, placing her hand lightly on Ron's arm to stop him mid-pace.

"You tried to poison McGonagall." Ron's accusing finger was now inches from Neville's nose.

"What? Why would I do that?" To his credit, Neville's jaw was set strongly against Ron's inquisition. However, his trembling hand betrayed his nervousness.

"He has a point," Hermione said quietly.

"Hermione, if you're not going to help you might as well leave."

"I am just trying to give you a clear view of Neville's perspective too."

"Neville can do that himself!"

"Oh, Ronald, the way you're interrogating him, I doubt he'll be able to get his own views across."

"Maybe if you'd shut up for a second we could hear Neville's replies."

This argument continued for quite a while, almost to the point that their voices faded to a low buzz and Harry was sinking deep into his own thoughts.

"You might as well go to bed, Neville," he said. "They're going to be a while." He lifted the curse and watched Neville scuttle off up the stairs to the dormitory, unnoticed by Ron and Hermione who were engrossed in their disagreement. A moment later, Harry followed suit, leaving his friends to shout it out. A decent night's sleep - one devoid of dementors, Sirius Black, Professor Trelawney's grim predictions and the week's odd mishaps – would do him wonders.

Just as soon as his head hit his pillow… Harry found his body no longer ached to sleep. His craving for rest had entirely dissipated. _Just my luck._

It took him a long while of desperate attempts at sleep and prayers to just let his brain relax for a while before Harry eventually gave up on the world of sleep that had so plagued him recently. He scrambled through his trunk, trying not to wake his classmates. Finally, he found the folded piece of parchment he sought and drew the curtains around his four poster, illuminating the tip of his wand with a _lumos _spell that he had only become adept at using in the past few months.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Harry was staring down at the Marauders' map, hypnotised by the dancing footsteps slithering about in different areas of the school. It took him a full minute of staring at a particular pair of feet before he realised what he was seeing.

_Blaise Zabini. _

_Heading towards the kitchens._

More out of instinct than anything, he grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and swept out of the dormitory, not caring – or perhaps not realising – that half of his forearm was now invisible from his draping it through the crook of his arm. When he reached the Common Room, Harry found that Hermione had already retired to bed, leaving Ron alone, agonising over the lengthy Transfiguration essay that had been set a week ago. Without explanation, Harry grabbed his friend's arm and yanked him away from the table.

As Harry shoved the cloak over the two of them, Ron just looked pleased to be away from his school work.

"And good evening to you," he said after they were out of earshot of the happily snoring Fat Lady.

"I don't think it was Neville," Harry said, assuming that Ron would cotton on quite quickly.

"If it wasn't him, why was he so nervous?" Ron whispered angrily.

"I think you'd be nervous too if some crazy ginger started firing questions like that at you." For the first time in a seemingly long time, Harry let out a chuckle.

"HEY! There is _nothing _wrong with being a ginger." Harry felt a sudden sharp push on his back.

"I was looking on the map," Harry said, changing the subject swiftly. "I saw Blaise Zabini going towards the kitchen."

"You don't think…?" Ron's voice trailed off into nothingness.

"It's as good a guess as any," Harry shrugged. Who else would Malfoy make a bet with?

"Why does everything happen when we're supposed to be in bed?" Corridor after corridor of dark wood and flagstones flashed beneath their feet; all remained silent.

"Because nobody wants to discuss their business in front of a multitude of gossiping portraits and a sea of first-years who can't control their mouths.

"Fair point."

Their voices were hushed finally by the sound of shuffling feet at the end of the corridor. Sure enough, there, right in front of the portrait with the pear that needed tickling, was Blaise Zabini standing in silk pyjamas before a small creature with eyes the size of tennis balls.

"What can Dobby do for Mr. Longbottom tonight?"

That was it. They'd got him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: But things are rarely that simple. Tune in next chapter for the final swap day!_


	9. Revenge

**Chapter 9: Revenge**

_A/N: Gosh, it has been rather a while, hasn't it? I am so sorry, but I got completely stuck on this story and didn't have time to work it out around all of the performances and exams I was doing. But I have sorted and reworked it now and am working on its conclusion. Here's a nice long chapter for you. I hope you will continue to read it. Have a good day, everybody!_

Friday was a decidedly brighter day than its predecessor. Though the grounds still bore the puddles of excess water that had failed to permeate the already sodden soil, the sun was beginning to shyly lift its head from the clouds. In another hour or so, the students would be doing the same.

Harry and Ron sat at the Gryffindor table long before anybody else arrived for breakfast. Not even the headmaster had arrived yet. But neither had been able to sleep after what they had witnessed the previous night. On the way back to the Common Room, they had debated going to tell Professor McGonagall immediately, but they had decided against it. Besides, Hermione had not even been told yet.

Ron was glaring down at his timetable.

"We have Snape first," he said, looking as though he were trying to burn the paper with his eyes. "Remind me again why I bothered getting up this morning…"

"I don't think you have a choice, mate."

Hermione, having impeccable timing as she did, chose that opportune moment to appear at the doors of the Great Hall.

"What are you two doing up so early?"

"We could ask you the same question." Ron spoke the precise words that Harry was thinking.

"I always get up early. You, on the other hand, seem to prefer to absorb the warmth of your bedsheets for as long as possible. Why should it be any different today?" Hermione stood defiantly, her arms crossed steadfastly over her abdomen.

"Well, frankly, I am insulted!" Ron replied, his ears turning red. _Perhaps_, Harry decided, _it was time to break this up. _He did not think he could deal with yet another full-scale war between his two best friends.

"Last night," Harry began in low, conspiratorial tones, "I was looking at the map and I –"

Harry's retelling of the previous night, however, was interrupted by the opening of the doors once again. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, looking much more their usual selves, entered the hall in light conversation.

"You didn't! I can't believe you would-" McGonagall stopped abruptly in her disbelieving speech as she noticed the presence of the Trio. "Good morning Miss Granger, Potter, Weasley. I trust you have been behaving yourselves in here."

"Yes, Professor," they chorused.

"How are you enjoying the swap?" Dumbledore looked down imploringly at them over his half-moon spectacles like a child silently asking for help.

"Well, it's been…" Ron started.

"Enlightening," Harry added to disguise Ron's silence.

Harry could have sworn he heard McGonagall say "Nice save, Potter" before moving off with the headmaster towards the staff table. When they were at a safe distance, Harry chanced telling Hermione about the previous night, casting regular glances at the staff table to ensure that they were not being watched.

"But that's –"

"Great, right?" said Ron. "We've solved it."

"No, it doesn't make any sense," Hermione said, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Why not?"

"Because…" Hermione trailed off as more students began to trickle into the Great Hall and take up seats around them. It seemed, Harry thought, as though the school did not want them to figure out who the culprit was._Why can't anything be simple here?_

Very soon, the Great Hall was thriving with the buzz that usually accompanies students on a Friday; the weekend was getting ever closer. For a lot of the inhabitants of Hogwarts, that meant Quidditch practice, time to scribble down that essay that was due on Monday, or just time to relax. But for the staff of Hogwarts, it represented unparalleled relief. The teacher swap was almost over.

It is safe to say that Snape was his usual self in Charms that morning. Mere seconds after Harry stepped through the door, he heard the harsh tones of the Head of Slytherin's voice.

"Don't take another step, Potter."

Harry looked up at him disbelievingly. What had he done in the three seconds that he had been in the room to offend Snape? Maybe it was his breathing.

"You nearly set off today's demonstration. If it is alright with you, I would rather not have to take you up to the Hospital Wing with only two of your necessary limbs."

Harry looked down but could see nothing, his stomach dropped. Ignoring Snape's sneer, he sidled around the edge of the large ornate rug set out in the centre of the room and took up a seat at the back of the classroom, far from the eye of the Potions Master. When the last of the students had filed into the room, Professor Snape waited for a stony silence to filter through the room, which, admittedly, took all of ten seconds; his very presence seemed to demand attention.

"Charms can be an essential factor in duelling, particularly if your opponent is unprepared for the attack. This, of course, is unlikely, and so you must create your element of surprise. As Mr. Potter almost discovered, I have organised a demonstration for you this morning." He fixed his jet black on Harry for a split second before turning to look at the ornate rug.

"This is a trap covered by an invisibility charm. It takes only a moment to set up if you are proficient in Charms, which I doubt any of you are yet," Snape smirked. "Observe."

The class edged forwards on their seats as Professor Snape conjured a live rat. He grasped it by the end of its tail before setting it down on the edge of the rug. The rat, like a moth to a flame, scurried towards the centre of the fabric. It never finished its journey.

"Excuse me, Sir. I feel sick." Hermione darted from the room, head ducked to avoid anybody's eyeline. The small bloodstain on the rug had been imprinted into her mind and was not likely to disappear anytime soon.

"Does anybody feel the need to join Miss Granger?" Snape asked slowly. Silence. "Then let us continue with the lesson."

When Ron and Harry emerged from the Charms classroom at the end of the lesson, their first thought was to find Hermione. Luckily for them, she had been two steps ahead of them.

"Ron, Harry! Over here," she called from the end of the corridor.

"Hermione, are you alright?" the boys inquired in unison.

"Yes, yes," she said dully, as if she had forgotten about the incident in Charms. "Look at this, will you?" She brandished a small leather-bound book before their noses.

"What's this?" asked Ron, taking the book from her hands. He read aloud: "_Love_ _Potions_ _of_ _the_ _Nineteenth_ _Century_. Why are you reading this?" Ron gave a teasing smile as Hermione's face turned a deep red colour and she tried, in vain, to snatch the book away from his grasps.

"Lavender left it behind in the Common Room and I wanted something to read, so I thought I would take a look."

"We'll believe you, thousands wouldn't," Ron replied, grinning. Hermione was not impressed.

"Just open it to page sixty-three, will you?"

"Alright, bossy! Erm… oh, here it is. It says: 'The venom of the South African _arboralis adamenta_, while commonly used as a sedative, can also have strong aphrodisiac effects when given in the right doses. Be careful, though, too much can constitute a strong de-aging agent!' Bloody hell. Does that mean –"

"Someone tried to slip McGonagall a love potion?" Harry asked incredulously. "Are you joking?"

"What other theories do we have, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, but what would Blaise Zabini want to give a love potion to her for?" Ron screwed up his face in thought.

"To whom, Mr. Weasley?" The three Gryffindors turned to find Professor Sprout looming (as far as was possible for a woman of her diminutive stature) over them. They looked guiltily between them. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know the answer. Are you in for Care of Magical Creatures next?"

"Yes, Professor," they replied in unison.

"Good. Don't tell Professor Dumbledore, but I managed to swap a Charms lesson with Professor Burbage so that I could do this instead. There's nothing quite like the fresh Scottish air to remind you that you're alive."

"Quite right, Professor," Hermione said cheerily. Ron eyed her suspiciously. "Actually, Professor, I was wondering whether I could ask your help with something?"

"As long as it doesn't involve numbers," Professor Sprout winked. "I was always hopeless with numbers."

"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's actually about Herbology."

"Well, then, there is no place better for you to go! Fire away, Miss Granger."

"Can you tell me anything about the _arboralis adamenta_?"

"Not looking to sedate anybody, are we, Miss Granger?" Professor Sprout asked with what Harry deemed was an undertone of real suspicion.

"Well, my father works as a dentist, you see, and he uses sedatives on his patients sometimes, but I wondered whether the _arboralis adamenta_ venom might be more efficient."

"Well, it only takes a few millimetres to put somebody small to sleep for a few hours, perhaps seven or eight for somebody tall. But precision is absolutely necessary when dealing with that particular venom, because too little can form a powerful love potion when mixed with the bloodstream, and too much can make a fair de-aging solution. That's if you can get your hands on the plant in the first place; it's extremely rare. We're lucky to have had one donated to us by the Headmaster after his travels in South Africa."

The Trio positively beamed at each other. At least the little information they did have was correct.

"Would you class Professor McGonagall as tall?"

Harry and Hermione turned on Ron in disbelief. His direct question had probably just blown everything. Professor Sprout was sure to know they were up to something now.

"I honestly don't think she heard," Ron said as they made their way across the grounds, towards Greenhouse Three. Harry and Hermione were still angry at him.

"Oh, Ronald, she would have to be deaf not to have heard that; she was walking right next to us!"

Ron was saved from the indignant glares of his friends when Professor Sinistra peered nervously around the door to the greenhouse. Her knuckles had turned a sickly white hue as a result of the tight grip she held on her wand.

"You may come in now," she announced shakily.

"Are you okay, Professor?" Neville asked, earning himself a sharp jab to the ribs from Hermione, who was appalled at his lack of tact. Professor Sinistra, however, seemed not to have noticed.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you, Mr. Longbottom. I am calm and –"

With perfect timing, the tentacle of a bright orange plant dropped onto the Professor's shoulder. She screamed and within a second, sparks had flown from her wand and severed the slimy appendage from the plant. It dropped to the ground with a heavy sploshing sound like that of a rock being dropped in the ocean.

This, Harry decided, would be a long Herbology lesson.

Potions with Hagrid, now this was the lesson Harry had been looking forward too. It had taken the Trio rather a while to get from the greenhouses to the dungeons, however, (thanks to Hermione's plentiful supply of heavy books) so they were the last three to enter the classroom.

"Oh, hello you three." Hagrid's deep voice carried well through the dungeons, so much so that Harry was certain they could have heard his greeting in the Owlery. Unfortunately, the cluttered Potions room was not designed to accommodate Hagrid's large frame.

Within seconds, potions and ingredients were flying everywhere. Eyeballs rolled along the floor, newts were set free as their glass prisons smashed against the cold flagstones, a thick powder filled the air with its dense aroma. Sensing another potions disaster like the one at the beginning of the week, Harry shouted to Hagrid over the hubbub.

"Hagrid. HAGRID STAND STILL!"

Hagrid obeyed and the class were left to recover as the noise died down and the powders began to settle as dust on the floor. Hagrid looked thoroughly embarrassed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione volunteered to stay and clear up the mess while the rest of the class were ushered towards their respective Common Rooms by an irate Professor Lupin, who had been searching for an ingredient for a new batch of pepper-up potion for Madame Pomfrey. The clean-up took a long time and it seemed even longer with the relative quiet passing between them but, at least, Harry reasoned, he had managed to spend some time with Hagrid. Even if Hagrid had been too embarrassed to say much.

The first floor corridor was quite devoid of life when the Trio reached the door of the Transfiguration classroom five minutes early. Immediately, they were struck by a sickly scent of incense and cooking sherry so thick that it felt solid in their mouths.

"McGonagall would be livid if she knew Trelawney was taking Transfiguration," said Ron as the Golden Trio filtered into the classroom to wait their fellow Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.

"Good afternoon, children," came the airy voice of Professor Trelawney as she appeared from behind the blackboard. "My inner eye told me that you would be arriving early so I too arrived here before the bell." Before Harry had time to even roll his eyes at the witch's predictable reference to her psychic abilities, the bell sounded and a stampede of feet ruptured the quiet of the classroom. Within five minutes, the rest of the class had taken their seats.

"Today, class," the heavily-shawled witch said with a slight slur, "we shall be turning quills into bottles."

"That's appropriate," Ron whispered to Harry. Thankfully, Professor Trelawney seemed not to notice their badly-suppressed giggling.

"Like so." She waved her wand at the nearest quill and shouted at the top of her lungs: "_Utrem transmutare!_" To the infinite surprise of the class, the quill did change shape. But not into the right shape. Instead of a shiny glass bottle, the quill had become a large eagle, perching on the edge of the desk. Crabbe leapt from his desk near the front of the class, sending several others crashing to the floor as he sprinted from the classroom. Harry and Ron could no longer suppress their amusement.

While the class ran riot, as had happened in many other lessons that day, Professor Trelawney stood at the front, muttering something about getting "the wrong incantation". The eagle was just spreading its wings, preparing to take flight, as the Professor pointed her wand at it and whispered "_finite_ _incantatem_".

The class were still shouting. Neville was crouched under a table. Malfoy aimed quills at Ron's head as though he were a dartboard. Hermione remained sitting, reading a heavy book she had extracted from her bag. It was all-out pandemonium.

"You will stop this right now!" Whatever Harry had expected Professor Trelawney to say, it was not that. Her face was red with rage and her shoulders shook. "I demand that you stop this instant and show some respect."

The entire class, even Malfoy and Goyle, had been shocked into silence.

"Mr. … er… Malfoy, you will go and retrieve your classmate and everybody else will take out a spare quill and prepare for your Transfiguration lesson."

Nobody argued.

Popping their heads into the Divination classroom like clockwork dolls, Harry and Ron saw Professor McGonagall staring into a crystal ball with disgust.

"Trelawney would be livid if she knew McGonagall was taking Transfiguration." Harry chuckled as he echoed Ron's earlier sentiment.

"Take a seat, please," McGonagall said without removing her eyes from the book she was reading. Once the last student had taken their seat, she continued. "Today we shall be looking at… er…" she shuffled around some papers on the desk until she found the one she wanted. "Today we shall be looking at the art of tea leaves." Her tone as less than enthusiastic.

Harry whispered to Ron, "I thought she hated all this stuff." Ron merely shrugged in reply.

"Right… if you could all take out your reference books and enjoy your tea." With a flick of her wand, each student had their own cup of nearly-transparent tea. They drained their cups in silence.

"Is something the matter?" McGonagall's voice roused the students. "Normally, I wouldn't be able to get you all to be quiet. It's like a morgue in here." Harry laughed at her dark humour. "Would anybody like to volunteer to read their partner's tea leaves?"

Of course, Lavender's hand shot into the air.

"Well, this looks like a broken aeroplane, which indicates a trap, and that looks like a cat, meaning deceit. But that looks like a cup, which means a reward. So you will face a trap and be deceived, but this will lead to a reward."

McGonagall suppressed a snort. "Thank you, Miss Brown. Anybody else?" Predictably, nobody else volunteered.

"Would you like me to read your tea leaves, Professor?" Lavender asked bashfully.

"I don't think –"

"It might change your mind about Divination, Professor."

"I highly doubt that, Miss Patil." Then, after a pause, "Alright then, Miss Brown, you may read my tea leaves."

Lavender almost skipped up to the desk and seized the porcelain cup. "This feather indicates a lack of concentration. This seems to be a mountain, which means that you will reach goals but with many obstacles." Suddenly, she grinned and indicated a final symbol. "And this is a fan, which means flirtation." A laugh rose through the room.

"Settle down please. Thank you, Miss Brown, you may sit back down now. Everybody please swap cups and try to find some sense in your partner's tea leaves."

Twenty minutes into the lesson, it was evident that everybody had given up on the week. The class were talking amongst themselves (even Lavender and Parvati had given in to talk of their plans for their first ever visit to Hogsmeade) and Professor McGonagall was gazing surprisingly absent-mindedly over their heads into a world known only to herself. Her wand was directed lazily at the teacup on her desk which was now – unbeknownst to the Professor – dancing a cheerful little jig. Harry took the opportunity to discuss with Ron their ever-changing theory on the de-aging mishap.

"Well, it couldn't have been Zabini, could it?"

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Can you imagine him trying to slip a love potion to McGonagall?" Ron had a point.

"Don't tell me you didn't think she looked good at seventeen."

"Yeah, but she wasn't seventeen. She just looked seventeen!"

"What if he didn't intend it as an aphrodisiac?" Harry ventured.

"So he wanted a sedative instead? I can't see that working, mate." Ron furrowed his brow in deep thought. "What if someone gave it to him? What if they were just getting him to do their dirty work? You heard Malfoy talking about a bet; he could easily have –"

Their conversation was interrupted by McGonagall's voice. "It's obvious that you have all checked out for the weekend, so you might as well leave early." Nobody moved. "Class dismissed. You can go, really." They did not need telling again; chairs scraped on the floor and bags were quickly slung over shoulders as students prepared to get some time in the sunshine.

"Potter, Weasley, can I talk to you for a moment please?" Oh dear. Ron and Harry wearily approached Trelawney's paper-covered desk. "Professor Sprout seems to be concerned about you two. Is there anything you are not telling me?" Harry sent mental daggers at Ron. Professor Sprout had heard him!

"No, Professor," they chirped simultaneously, both hoping that she could not read the guilt on their faces.

"I don't believe you. You know that, don't you? Now go on and enjoy your weekend. And stay out of trouble if you physically can."

After dismissing Potter and Weasley, Minerva had rushed from the Divination room, eager to get far away from the place, and its thickly scented air, in as short a time as possible. On returning to her own classroom, however, she found the air to be just as heavy with some woody perfume and a distinct whiff of cooking sherry. Sighing, she grabbed a stack of essays awaiting marking and swept from the room to escape the smell once more.

It seemed, though, that peace and quiet were no friends of the Transfiguration Professor's that evening. She was not three steps inside her rooms when something unusual caught her eye. In the centre of the room was a large case made of cracked leather. When it had been put there, and by whom, were the puzzles she now had to solve.

She circled the case hesitantly, a predator waiting to pounce. The seventeen-year-old Minerva, she thought, would have jumped on the case and started investigating it immediately. But age makes us cautious, another part of her mind argued. It was drowned out, however, by the other part saying: "why should that happen to all of us? Come on, old girl, let the cat give over to curiosity for a while!"

Just as Minerva had given in, just as her fingers grasped the lock of the case, a loud thumping noise sounded to her left as if by divine intervention. Naturally, her hand flexed towards her wand. Holding it an arm's length before her, Minerva stopped before the bathroom door, behind which she had heard the sound. _It's now or never, old girl._

"Bombarda." That door would need fixing in the morning. It flew from its hinges, missing a squat, yellow-clad figure by mere inches. Minerva gasped. Horace Slughorn was standing, shell-shocked, in front of her sink.

"What are you doing here… in my bathroom?" she demanded. To Minerva's surprise and annoyance, her old Potions teacher chuckled – yes, chuckled.

"Perhaps you need to talk to the Headmaster," he replied, beaming. Minerva scowled in reply.

"Oh, I will," she said, advancing on him, "and you had better not be in my room when I get back!" Ignoring Professor Slughorn's indignant '_Charming!'_, Minerva stormed out of her office and turned towards the Headmaster's.

"Poor git," she heard one of the Weasley twins murmur as she strode past them and came to a halt at the statue guarding Professor Dumbledore's _sanctum sanctorum_. Before she could stop herself, she had replied: "You have no idea." Smirking at the shocked faces she left behind and mentally berating herself for her slip, Minerva ascended the staircase (new password: _liquorice wands_. One day, she thought, Albus Dumbledore would lose all of his teeth and she would be obliged to say "I told you so"). She did not even knock before throwing the door open.

"What is Horace Slughorn doing in my rooms?" Even she was impressed by the strength of her voice reverberating around the room. Albus turned his attention away from the silver trinket he had been adjusting and fixed the Deputy Headmistress with his twinkling gaze.

"I don't know, Minerva. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"I don't care for what you are insinuating and you can take that grin off of your face right now!" Not one to push too far past the limits in situations like this for fear of his personal welfare, Albus endeavoured to keep a straight face. A long pause ensued while the Headmaster attempted to keep his laughter at bay; Minerva's unnecessarily angry expression was not helping matters either. Phineas Nigellus seemed to be on the point of reprimanding him when the door swung open once more.

_Does nobody have the common courtesy to knock anymore?_ Albus thought ruefully. An invisible weight dropped into his stomach when the round form of the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, appeared in the doorway. Minerva rolled her eyes as he removed his distinctive bowler hat and gave what he evidently thought was a chivalrous little bow in her direction. She was even more disgusted when he proceeded to ignore her and address Albus as though she were not even in the room.

"Albus, an urgent meeting of the Governor's has been called by an independent individual concerned by recent events at Hogwarts." The first thought that crossed the mind of both teachers was '_Lucius Malfoy_'. "I thought it better that we investigate this first-hand."

"So you removed all of the school Governors from their daily occupations –" Albus began, but he was cut off by Minerva.

"- And dragged yourself away from the running of this country's magical community!"

"Yes, thank you, Minerva." She scowled at Albus's tone. "What we seem to be struggling with, Mr. Fudge, is the notion that you would cause so much disruption to investigate such a claim." _Good old Albus, _Minerva thought. _Trust him to make an insult seem polite._

"It is a spectacular waste of time and money, you see," Minerva said. She appeared to be struggling more than usual with the censorship of her sharp tongue. Fudge, quite accustomed to the outspoken nature of the Head of Gryffindor (And her students, come to think of it), acted as though he had not heard her.

"I think, Albus, that Ms. McGonagall might be more comfortable in her own rooms."

"Ms. McGonagall is quite capable of speaking for herself, Mr. Fudge. Besides, my rooms have suddenly become a guest house, by the looks of it."

Finally meeting her gaze, Fudge said blandly: "A staff member has placed each Governor with a teacher to allow for an effective and representative monitoring system to be set up for the ensuing weeks."

"Weeks? How long exactly do you intend to be 'monitoring' us?"

"I am sure, Professor, that if you are as able a teacher as the Headmaster seems to think you are, then you have nothing to be concerned about." Minerva blushed despite herself.

"The point still stands," she replied, "that you will be wasting a colossal amount of time and energy that would be better invested in improving Muggle-Wizard relations or tightening up security in Azkaban, since neither of those things appear to be on your list of priorities."

The Minister's face turned a shade of purple that would put even Albus's robes to shame. "I do not think," he began in measured tones, "that the safety of young witches and wizards is a waste of time."

"But this is not about the children, is it, Minister?" Minerva spat, her fists clenched dangerously at her sides. "This is about your vendetta against Hogwarts and the way Albus chooses to run it!"

"Well, with people like you working here, can you blame me?"

"You have no right to talk to my staff in that way, Cornelius," Albus said finally in a clear, resonating voice. "Minerva, I will speak to you later."

"But –"

"Minerva, it would be best if you went back to your office."

She moved unwillingly towards the door, although not before sending one of her trademark glares-of-doom to the Minister, who blanched visibly. It was only when the door was almost closed that Minerva heard the Minister say "I see you still couldn't find anyone tamer for the post, then."

It was all Minerva could do to stop herself from crashing back into the office and unleashing the full extent of the rage she had built up over the last week. She was still fuming when she bumped into Severus Snape on the fourth floor corridor.

"Are you enjoying the company the Minister sent?" he asked, sneering at her. In that second, something clicked in her mind.

"It was you! You put Slughorn in my room, didn't you? Did you call in the Governors too? Well?" She was one step away from whipping out her wand and forcing him against the wall, but the thought of a student coming down the corridor and witnessing the whole thing held her back.

"I cannot take credit for the latter accusation," he drawled, "but it was I who showed the Governors to their teaching partners."

Minerva's blood was searing now. Severus Snape would pay for this.

_A/N: The next chapter should be the last one, in which the mystery of the plant venom will be solved (hopefully)._


	10. Twists, Twists and More Twists

_A/N: Prepare yourselves for the stupidest conclusion to a fic in the history of ever._

* * *

><p>The warmth emanating from the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room did little to warm Harry as he listened to another of Ron's theories on the De-aging fiasco of Monday afternoon. As the evening wore on, his explanations had become more and more improbable.<p>

"So, there's a troll in the dungeons –"

"I think that's been done before, Ron," Harry interrupted blandly.

"There has to be a reasonable explanation behind it," Hermione said, drawing her fluffy white blanket even tighter around her shoulders.

"Repeating that isn't going to help," Ron replied irritably. "At least I'm offering some suggestions here."

Noticing the indignant look on Hermione's face, Harry quickly suggested that the three of them join the rest of the school for dinner in the Great Hall before the situation escalated into a full-blown shouting match.

When they have begrudgingly shed their winter accessories and made their way to the Great Hall, most of the school was already attacking their evening meals. Immediately, however, Harry noticed some differences at the staff table; Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were more or less themselves again; Snape had resumed his seat with his ubiquitous sullen expression; most noticeably, there were an additional twelve adults squashed in between the teaching staff. One of these twelve, Lucius Malfoy, was already sneering at him. It was not until after dinner that the students were afforded an explanation for these impromptu visitors.

"The school governors, in an attempt to get back in touch with the school they are making decisions for, have decided to eat dinner with us tonight, which accounts for the rather cramped conditions up here." An appreciative mumble of laughter spread through the hall. "But they all have very busy lives, I am sure, so they shall be leaving now. Please be polite to them on their way out."

It was clear that this was not at all what the governors had intended as their faces instantly shifted to displays of disgrace and annoyance. Mr. Malfoy could be heard calling for Dumbledore as the students and staff began to file out of the room, in favour of their bedrooms.

"What exactly do you mean by this?"

"I am going to my room so that I may retire to bed, Lucius," Dumbledore replied, evidently struggling to restrain the smile threatening to rise onto his face.

"You know that is not what I mean, Albus," Malfoy replied sharply.

"I am afraid, Lucius, that you are not particularly clear in your meaning when you speak. Perhaps you should work on that. Now, if you will excuse me," the Headmaster said, drawing to a stop beside the Golden Trio, who had not moved from their seats with the rest of the crowd, "I need to have a discussion with a few of my students. Good evening, Lucius."

Malfoy sent a poisonous glare at Professor Dumbledore before he swept from the room. Harry could have jumped with glee.

"I believe," the Headmaster said, "that you three have something which you would like to tell me." _How in Merlin's name does he do that?_ Harry thought, not for the first time.

"It's about Professor Snape, sir," Hermione blurted. That was it. They would have to tell him now.

"Is it indeed?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes barely containing a light twinkle.

"We know who poisoned him, Sir."

"It was Blaise Zabini," Ron added.

"Malfoy bet him that he could poison a teacher. He tried to poison Professor McGonagall, but ended up poisoning Snape instead."

After a moment of silence, Professor Dumbledore's grave features shifted to something akin to amusement.

"How ingenious! I am afraid, though, that you do not have the entire story."

***This is where everything goes all shimmery***

_You see, we teachers also need something to distract ourselves from the rigour of school life. While I usually do not make bets with the staff – mainly because Minerva and Severus (however they might despise Divination) are practically Seers when it comes to predicting Quidditch results – I did make a bet with Professor Flitwick earlier this week. _

Filius Flitwick glared once more at the side of Albus Dumbledore's head; the Headmaster was showing his ineptitude in the field of subtlety again. For the past few minutes, he had been gazing dreamily (yes, _dreamily_) at the form of Minerva McGonagall as she pored over a weighty tome on experimental transfiguration. Filius was not the only one to have noticed this unfortunate tendency in the Headmaster. All of the staff knew, even Sibyl Trelawney.

At that moment, Minerva looked up from her book, causing Albus to jerk his face and arm away, and knocking over his mug of tea in the process. _Things, _thought Filius, _are getting out of control_. It was because of this rather annoying episode that Filius proposed a bet to Albus later that evening.

"I am afraid that I do not quite understand what you are implying, Filius." The Headmaster said vaguely.

"Don't give me that, Albus! We have all seen you; you look at her like a lovesick puppy!"

"I resent that."

"The truth hurts," Filius retorted quickly.

"Was there a point to your observation, Filius?"

"Actually, there is. I would like to propose a bet," the Charms Professor grinned.

"Oh, no! No, no, no! I refuse."

"Come on, Albus, old chap. You're the one who is always saying that we can achieve anything if given the right motivation; well here's your motivation!" At the sight of Albus's unimpressed face, Filius added: "You never know what might happen, Albus."

_Naturally, I could not resist such a proposition. I managed to get some Arboralis Adamenta venom from the greenhouses and I planned to slip it into Minerva's drink in the staffroom later. However, things rarely go to plan at Hogwarts, as I am sure you know._

Albus slipped down to the kitchens, in search of a sugary midnight snack to quiet his thoughts. Unfortunately, he was not the only one with this idea.

Severus Snape looked up from his mug of tea at the sound of footsteps advancing on the table at which he sat. In shuffled Albus Dumbledore, clad in a dark blue dressing gown, matching pyjamas and bright orange slippers that went with the marmalade-coloured bows restraining his wayward beard. He was clutching a small vial in one hand.

"Good evening, Severus," he smiled, though the remark was lacking its usual jovial quality.

"Good evening, Headmaster," Severus replied warily. "May I ask what you have there?"

"Some things must remain sacred in this place, Severus." Unperturbed by this response, Severus craned his neck to try and get a glimpse of the liquid inside the glass tube. From what he saw, it was brilliantly clear viscous substance with the slightest hint of red suspended in the centre.

"Is that arboralis adamenta venom? Where in Merlin's name did you find that? Why do you have it in the first place? And why do you have it here?"

Worn down by Severus's incessant questioning, Albus reluctantly explained Filius' bet. Far from the sarcastic comments that Albus was expecting, Severus looked grim. He unceremoniously snatched the vial away from Albus' hands and moved towards the door.

"I will not have precious venoms used up as jokes by randy old men."

_This entire conversation appears to have been overheard by Mr. Malfoy, who, as you have found, seems to have bet Mr. Zabini that he could poison a teacher, perhaps not fully understanding the nature of the venom._

_It seems that Mr. Zabini felt unable to pull off this feat alone, so he enlisted the help of Dobby the House Elf under the guise of Mr. Longbottom. Frankly, Dobby should have known better. _

_Dobby then, under Mr. Zabini's instruction, laced Professor McGonagall's dinner with the venom, but used too much. She, not feeling hungry after the disastrous Potions lesson which caused the de-aging mishap, allowed a starving Professor Snape to eat her meal._

"That is the wildest, most ridiculous story I have ever heard." Professor McGonagall's voice sounded from behind the Headmaster. "And I think it is time that you three were heading to bed," she said, looking pointedly at the three young Gryffindors. They trooped slowly out of the Great Hall, abandoning the mugs of cocoa that had been almost forced upon them by the Headmaster, and muttering quietly to each other all the way.

"That was a very stupid idea, Albus."

"The teacher swap or the bet?"

"Both," she smiled. "Although, if I must admit, I think the bet was rather sweet."

"Oh, really?" Albus wiggled his eyebrows comically.

"You could have just told me, you know."

"Yes, but where's the fun in that?" he laughed. The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying each other's company and the warmth of the Hall, until the Transfiguration Professor broke the silence.

"No more of your stupid ideas, alright?" Minerva implored. Albus grinned back at her.

"I am not promising anything."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I apologise sincerely, because I am aware that this chapter is definitely not the best, but I just felt like this story had gone unfinished for far too long. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the story as a whole!_


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